The Wilds of Eriador
by Irritable Insanity
Summary: Farbarad and company have their task from the Aran of Imladris. They set off through the High Pass for Rhovanion, but a meeting with a familiar face throws a kink into the group and changes a few plans. LOTR A/U, set 15 years before FOTR. OC heavy.
1. Enter Farbarad

-1 Of Farbarad, Trolls, Mind over Matter, and a Brawl in Combe

_**Disclaimer: I **_(rather obviously) **_do not own Lord of the Rings, that belongs to JRR Tolkien and the Tolkien Foundation. _**

**Notes:**** This story is set in the year 3004 of the Third Age, (putting it at some 16-odd years before the 1****st Year of the 4th Age and maybe 14-15 years before the War of the Ring, give or take a year), and can be considered something of an A/U for a number of reasons. **

**First, in this story, the Rangers of Eriador are more numerous than they were in the books. (at least by my reading) Not massively so, perhaps maybe 70-72 or so fighting men spread out throughout Eriador. **

**Second, the date given for the tale puts it a ways after the Battle of the Five Armies in The Hobbit, but the AU part comes in in that the Orcs of the Misty Mountains, while broken and scattered, were still able to reinforce their numbers with warriors who escaped the fall of Dol Guldur and new troops sent to the mountains after the Nazgul reclaimed the fortress. This still small but growing army has led to a struggle in succession among the Orcs after Bolg's death, and Orcs from various factions have strayed into Eriador further than they had before in their search for plunder and slaves to maintain their troops. **

**Emphasis on this being a small army though, say in the areas of 400-500 on one side and maybe 300-350 on the other from the Mountains, and maybe another three hundred and fifty from Dol Guldur, so it's nothing like what fought at the Battle of the 5 Armies. **

**This puts a lot more work on the Rangers, but they are still able to keep the Orcs away from the people of Eriador, for the most part, and so the folk there still have the typical Bree-lander mentality we saw in the books. **

**Third, Imladris is more of a small town than the impression I got of it from the books. Yes, the House of Elrond is the largest building and the town center, if you like, but there are some other houses and trade-shops in Rivendell, and it has its own little roadways.**

**Finally, the bandits are a slightly bigger problem than they were in the books. **

**It is also an AU because it centers around a Dunedain who is more mercenary and less noble than the regular men of Numenor. He still has his honor and principles, and will do the right thing, but duty and noble behavior are not concepts he's overly friendly with. **

**These are notable departures from the Tolkien official canon, hence the alternate universe classification, though I hope this won't deter any of the audience from enjoying the story. **

**Okay, very long-winded Author's Note done, on to the tale. **

Mornings in Eriador were a special time, and those who rose early enough to watch the sun rise over the Misty Mountains were in for a special treat. The sun's light would bathe the snowy mountain tops in color, and the morning air felt cool and fresh in one's lungs.

Mornings also reminded the average traveler that Eriador was probably one of the safest places to be in Middle Earth, provided that one stayed clear of the Troll-Shaws at the foot of the Misty Mountains, or the large roads the bandits frequented, or the Barrow Downs, which were rumored to be haunted by the spirits of men long-dead.

The remaining territory, and there was plenty of that, was closely guarded by the rangers, and thus fairly safe, and men from Bree and its surrounding towns and hamlets could go about their work without too much need of arms.

The idea that some enemy may attack them was almost unthinkable to the folk of the Shire and of Bree-land, though there had been rumors of other folk of other lands being harassed. Orcs had been so rarely spotted in anywhere close to Bree-land that most who lived there thought them to be almost legendary specters of evil than anything else, and few Trolls ever ventured far beyond their fells to trouble the townsfolk of say, Combe or Archet. There were bandits in the area, but these were continually hunted by the rangers, though the Dunedain rarely received thanks for this from the men of the land.

Yes, mornings were a time to reflect on the blessings one had in living in such a land. Unfortunately for some, morning was long past and evening was coming. For those living in western Eriador, that meant watching a gorgeous sunset, eating a good meal, and getting a quiet night's sleep. But for the rangers and other folk who guarded Eriador, especially its eastern lands, it meant a night of hard work.

"Bah, night's coming, and it's raining as well. Wasn't the night bad enough?" The speaker turned his weary gaze on his companion, a small, fat, russet pony, and sighed. "I never should've come out here tonight, Card'." The man shuddered under the rain and cold of the early November night, and glowered at the sky.

"Farbarad, old boy," Farbarad continued, "you should be in a warm bed, with a nice mug of hot milk and wine. Why are you even out here? Ah yes, because brother Haduil wanted to see you. And why did he pick such a Valar-forsaken night for our meeting? " He gave no answer to his question, choosing instead to curse the weather and his brother with complete impartiality.

The Dunedain, Farbarad, as he called himself, was a somewhat shady, though outwardly respectable figure, known in several towns for his lively wit and willingness to lend a helping hand to anyone who had something to offer him, and for his penchant for sleight of hand and strong drink. He was reasonably well-liked by the folk of Bree-land, and much less so by his Dunedain kin.

It was truly ironic, Farbarad mused: the men of this land were so willing to extend their hospitality to a man willing to get drunk with them, help them find a missing pin or lost chicken, to make foolish jokes, to cheat them and be cheated by them, yet they scorned and mocked the rangers who never failed to keep watch over all their little towns, keeping the servants of the Enemy at bay.

"Brother." The voice caused Farbarad's spine to stiffen, and the tall, lanky man to whirl in his tracks, staring darkly at the dark-clad man before him. "Are you going to spend the whole night complaining to your pony?" there was a hint of amusement in the other man's deep voice, and the two Dunedain stared at each other disapprovingly.

"I do't know, brother, perhaps I shall. After all, one cannot hope for better company than Cardolan here. What did you call me out here for? I would assume you come to me seeking my help, strange as it may seem that the mighty High Captain Haduil, leader of eleven sturdy Rangers, should come begging his brother's aid in a task."

Haduil shook his head disgustedly. "I don't, won't, and never have begged you for anything, Farbarad. If you don't wish to aid me, then I will find another who will. I'm sure that there are other warriors in this land less burdened with pomposity and more aware of how little they actually possess."

Farbarad spine, which had relaxed, stiffened again, and gave his kin a tiny, self-mocking smile. "You thrust the point home, Haduil. I will willingly admit that a gambler such as myself lives from hand to mouth. How may your humble servant be of service? What forced you to ask you to meet me here in the Chetwood?"

Haduil's eyes narrowed slightly. "One of my scouts in the Chetwood reported seeing a score of Orcs and two Trolls in the heart of the woods about last nights. I don't claim to know how they managed to sneak past my fellow rangers, but they did. My men caught them roaming the woods last night. I and the four under my command ambushed them, killing many of the Orcs and wounding one of the Trolls, but the affair cost us. Tervail and Turemir were both moderately wounded, and others under my command have new scars to bear.

"I'm sorry to say that at least a five Orcs escaped us, for all the carnage. My best guess is that they scattered to the east, so at least the men of Bree won't have cause to fear them. I detached those of my men that were uninjured to pursue the Orcs, and sent the rest to the nearest of our outposts. This leaves the issue of the Trolls. The other half of my ranger detachment in the area, five men under Captain Borbarad, is two or three days away, and I'd rather be rid of the beasts tonight. I tracked the Trolls down after the battle, and found that the Orcs had built the beasts a secure underground hold in the northern part of the Chetwood."

Farbarad frowned, but reserved his outburst until he'd shared what information he had with his brother. "Ah, so that explains why the farmers around Archet and Bree have been losing so many sheep and cattle."

Haduil looked up sharply, and raised a dark, bushy eyebrow. "Indeed it would. Tell me, brother, how long have the farmers been complaining about their missing livestock?"

"Since last Monday, by Shire-reckoning. I've also found what was left of some bandits. I say what was left because there was nothing there but a few limbs, their weapons, and a great deal of blood. It appears that the Orcs and Trolls have been busy here a bit longer than they should, but it's obvious that they didn't want to alert you to their presence too soon."

"Too true. Farmers have lost livestock before, and few folk here will report the deaths of few bandits. The Orcs are operating rather cunningly for being simple slaves of Sauron."

"Aye, that is also true." Farbarad chewed on his lower lip and gave Haduil a none-too-kind stare. "So you felt I could handle a pair of Trolls on my own, eh?" Haduil grunted and shrugged. "Well, I must say in all modesty that I'm one of the better warriors you know of in the area, and you did right to come to me first. Ah, I can't say that mocking smile of yours warms the brotherly cockles of my heart, but I will try to destroy these beasts as a special gift for you. The Valar know that I've no more love for Orcs or Trolls than you do."

"That is well and good, and thank you for giving this a try. You may keep whatever catches your fancy from the Troll-hoard. Despite our difficulties, I do hope that you find something in that hold that will help you make something of yourself…or at least keep you in wine or cards for a few weeks."

"Ah, Haduil, you know me far, far too well." Farbarad laughed. "I just spent my last copper this morning, and the thought of finding silver or gold in coin or otherwise is a pleasant one to be sure. I'll begin the transfer of those goods from their claws to our hands posthaste, and will be long gone by the time you meet the other rangers and move out to destroy the lair."

Farbarad and his pony broke company with Haduil and headed into the forest, though their speed slackened somewhat when they entered the forest proper.

"I'm not overly eager to spring into battle with two Trolls, my bravado notwithstanding. I have some plans for a trap, but putting them into action will eat up what time I have. I must work fast. I shall leave you here, brave Card', you're too fine a pony to end up in a Troll's belly; the pasturage there is bad, to say the least."

True to his word, Farbarad tied the pony to a tree at the edge of the forest, and pushed on on foot towards the Chetwood's northern area, where he set to work with what tools he had in his pack. He'd managed to set up what he assumed to be a fairly effective Troll trap: a long piece of rope, stretched taut at about a foot up from the ground, with three upright stakes, formerly fallen branches, set into the ground about six, eight, and ten feet from the rope. The whole task took some time, but he felt it was worth it, and it was not bad work for having been done by the light of the lantern hanging from a strap over his shoulder.

"There we go, there's one Troll done for, provided I can get him to run in a straight line after me. After that, well, after that I'll just have to make do with what comes to hand." Farabard took a shaky breath and walked back over to the other side of the rope, where he'd laid his spear and longbow before he'd started on this project. He slung the bow over his shoulder, and took up the spear, twirling it idly between the fingers of his right hand.

"The thought of fighting a Troll here is no welcome one. The woods are denser in this area, which means more places for me to hide, but less space to dodge once the battle is joined." He kicked at a rotting stick and swore, freezing as a deep growl sounded behind him. "Looks like works starts early tonight."

He turned slowly, clutching his spear in long, thin, pale fingers. There was a Troll not forty yards away, with his broad nose tilted up into the air and one hand raised to scratch at a boil at the side of its scaly neck. It had obviously caught wind of him, but seemed almost confused by his presence. It turned its head towards him and fixed the Dunedain with a gaze consisting of equal parts of stupidity and malice. A hefty wooden club hung in its other hand, and it seemed to be tapping it against its side as it studied him.

Farbarad had always had an impatient streak, and it showed itself at the worst times. He flung his spear in the direction of the beast, cursing as it landed in the dirt between the Troll's legs. His cursing escalated in noise and sheer volume as the burly Troll threw back its head, screamed a war-cry to the sky, and charged.

Farbarad considered himself a fairly good runner, but this Troll, with its long legs and surprising agility, was making him look like a snail. He barely kept ahead of the great beast's club, sprang over the rope stretched before him, and dived off to the right just as the Troll's legs met the rope right where thick leg met toeless foot. The Troll tumbled forward with a bellow that ended abruptly as its bulk fell on and forced three ugly stakes through its gut, its lower chest, and its neck. The beast moaned feebly, thrashed once, and went still.

The vagabond of a Dunedain was still shaking as he walked over to the bloody body, and he ran trembling hand through his air, his nose wrinkling at the stench of the Troll before him.

"I cannot say I'm sorry about this, my foul acquaintance. I cannot risk you getting up, and you probably won't feel it, anyway." Farbarad's hands dropped to the double-headed war-axe hanging in a loop on his belt, and he pulled it out, swung it over his head with both hands, and brought it down on the Troll's skull. The axe was a fine weapon, designed to be used either two-handed or alongside a shield, and it had a keen Elven edge to it. Farbarad's muscular arms slammed one head of the weapon deep into the Troll's head, drawing one last convulsive shudder from the Troll.

Farbarad wrenched the weapon back out of the beast's head with some disgust, hacked down into the thick forest soil to clean the head, and glanced about the clearing. "It appears that all's quiet for now. All that remains is to retrace this brute's steps back to his den and wait for the other beast to show." He glanced down at the big Troll and chuckled darkly. "And this was the uninjured one. I suppose the Valar are smiling on me tonight." His eyes soon picked up the oddly shaped tracks behind the Troll's body, and he was off like a shot along the trail.

He hadn't gone more than twenty or thirty steps before hearing heavy, erratic footfalls headed straight towards him, accompanied by another, softer patter. "So, all the Orcs fled east when your men attacked them, eh Haduil?" He breathed a curse at his absent brother and snatched the bow off his back. He nocked an arrow and let fly just as a huge form half-limped, half-charged into the circle of light provided by his lantern. Farbarad was an extremely skilled archer, and probably could've been famous as a hunter. Hs skill served him well tonight.

The steel point pierced the bandage wrapped around the wounded monster's leg, and the Troll reeled back, bellowing in pain and fury. This gave Farbarad just enough time to drop his bow, take up his axe again, and spin to confront the Orc lunging at him.

Farbarad may have been a skilled archer, but his skills in melee combat were somewhat lacking. He had the strength and the stamina needed for the trade, but he'd never been truly proficient in the art of attack, parry, and counter-attack, or the subtleties of using a shield in battle, and so he'd taken to using a weapon that could debilitate or kill in one strike. This, at least partly, counterbalanced his lack of skill in melee combat. He blocked a wild swing from the Orc's mace, and spun his arms in a broad circle, throwing the Orc's weapon arm wide. A solid downwards chop took that arm, and a second slammed into the Orc's collarbone, smashing through flesh and bone to rend its vitals.

He ripped the axe free of the dying Orc just before an enraged bellow and a massive strike to his side repaid Farbarad for neglecting the Troll. The Dunedain flew through the air, nearly dropping his axe as he slammed into a tree. He caught himself from sliding down the trunk with some effort, and dropped a hand from the haft of his axe to his belt to draw an _eket. _The Troll brought its arm back to swing, and the Dunedain's legs dropped. The blow shook the tree, and Farbarad darted at the Troll's leg. Eighteen inches of good Dunedain-forged steel drove towards the Troll's wounded leg, right by the arrow Farbarad had shot into beast's worthless carcass.

The strike was a hard one, a minor miracle in and of itself, and it went into the broad, festering wound on the leg almost halfway; the Troll stumbled back with a howl of agony, and Farbarad threw himself at the staggered creature, cleaving wildly with his axe, trying to put it down before it could recover. A fist caught the Dunedain in the stomach, doubled him, and sent him to the ground. The now truly enraged Troll raised its club to deal the final blow. "Now you die, _tarhk_, now I eats proper for once!"

Farbarad had no intention of becoming a meal for a beast of Sauron. After all, he would be unable to impress the women if he were dead, and he would not be able to enjoy a hot meal at his favorite haunt in Combe if he was in a Troll's belly. With a speed he never knew he had, he scrambled through the Troll's legs. The Troll's blow just missed his feet, and the Dunedain was on them a split-second later. He brought the axe back over his shoulder and struck the brute in the back of its injured leg. The Troll screamed and dropped to its knees, cursing and trying to regain its footing.

It never got the chance; the top of its skull was introduced to the sharp edge of a heavy axe. The great beast swayed stupidly on its knees for several seconds before finally falling on its side with a wet thud. Farbarad dropped to his knees beside it, coughing and trying to convince his wildly protesting stomach to calm down.

He pulled his axe his axe from the Troll's skull and his _eket_ from its leg, and he stared down at the Troll, shaking his head. "That was far too close for comfort. Far too close, far too close." He swallowed hard, sucked air in through his nose, and stared up at the sky. "Now for the den."

The wanderer rose from his knees, recovered his bow, and turned back to following the first Troll's tracks back to the hold. The Troll-den was a simple hole in the ground, with several great boards of wood laid over the top, huge, roughly cut boards that even a Dunedain's strength couldn't budge He shook his head and swore viciously, scowling at this new obstacle.

"I go to the trouble of fighting and killing two Trolls and an Orc, and now I can't even get into their den, tonight is truly a night to remember.." He tapped a finger against his jaw and frowned. "This is where Cardolan could well earn his keep."

Farbarad retrieved the ever-faithful Cardolan and ran a line of rope from pony to board. He stepped ahead of his pony and grabbed two handfuls of rope before shouting "Pull!" Farbarad heaved at the rope with all his might, and he could feel the pony hauling away behind him.

Slowly but surely, pony and man pulled the boards away from the mouth of the hole, and Farbarad whooped when he and Cardolan dragged the last one away from the entrance.

"Well done, my good sir!" he cried, clapping the pony on the back. "I shall return shortly with our reward. Stay here and watch the area while I'm gone." The pony glanced tiredly at his master and snorted.

Farbarad was too enthused at being alive and with his reward within his grasp to really care what a pony thought of him. The Dunedain raised a clenched fist into the air and disappeared into the Troll-hold with a whoop.

The Trolls had probably hailed from the part of the Shaws closest to the mountains, because Farbarad saw a great deal of garb and gear that looked like it came from heedless travelers from Rhovanion, travelers who survived the travel through the High Pass only to be slain by Trolls when they took a wrong turn. There were over a dozen bottles of fine wine from Mirkwood, likely borne by traders from Dale, as the men of the town still did quite a bit of business with the Elves. There were also a few fine weapons, including an Elven sword and Elf-made _eket_, a weapon that had more than likely been made for one of the Dunedain and was being delivered, either by an Elf or a man when the Trolls took it. There was a box of trinkets, some of which looked like they were made of silver, and there were also plenty of foodstuffs, sausages, cheese, and the like, but Farbarad was uneasy about eating food that had spent who knows how long in a hole in the ground.

There was some clothing, but it was badly ripped and bloody, and Farbarad saw no point in removing it from the lair. That, however, was not the case with the chest of silver and gold he found in the back of the cave. Farbarad wanted the eket, and all the bottles of wine, but he knew that his brother would not be happy and less likely to give him any further jobs if he took those and a full half of the coin. To that end, he left two thirds of the coin behind. In that same spirit of giving, Farbarad left the barrel of good mead and other barrel of ale that he'd found in the back of the den.

There were also shovels, most Orc-sized, though there were two that were massive, and these and the wooden boards explained how the Orcs had brought two Trolls with them over the open country. They would have traveled by night, stopping to dig a pit deep enough to cover the Trolls and whatever booty they brought with them, and had the Trolls pull the boards over the tops of the pits to keep the sun out. That these beasts would have thought this far in advance was unnerving. Orcs were getting far too clever for anyone else's good.

He shook himself and turned back to the plunder. Haduil had told him to leave whatever he didn't want in the den, and that the Rangers would take care of any bodies, so Farbarad's remaining work was very light. Being the meticulous sort, he listed what he'd taken from the den as follows.

_Obtained from the Troll Den in the Chetwood _

_1 eket of Elven make_

_12 bottles of fine wine from Mirkwood, four of Dorwinion vintage. _

_5 bottles of red wine from parts unknown, labels indicate that it hails from one of the fiefs of Gondor_

_1/3 of a medium sized chest of gold and silver coins, estimated weight of my share at 8 pounds. _

_1 full length weather coat, dark brown, made of a good wool and in excellent condition. _

_2 swords, both of Dunedain make. _

Even eight pounds of coin was unlikely to last the Dunedain long, as he was not a thrifty man and loved to gamble. But the taking of the wine was a great prize. The owners of the inn at Combe were good friends of his, and would gladly put the wine in the section of the cellar that he had rented from them.

The trip back to Combe was a slow one for Farbarad, laden as he was, but it was a trip that was blessedly uneventful. He pulled into Combe after a few days of arduous walking-Cardolan was carrying enough as it was-and smiled to see how little it had changed in the time he'd been gone.

That was yet another perk for living in Bree-Land: things never changed, and one could almost forget all the trouble that loomed off to the east, one could almost forget that Sauron ever existed.

Farbarad took a deep breath of air and exhaled slowly, grinning about himself at the town. Truth be told, his decision to avoid joining the rangers had had as much to do with the fact that he wanted the world to leave him alone as it had to do with him being spiteful and sour. He wanted a normal life, a hometown to come back to, and neighbors who at least seemed glad to see him. Combe provided all that for him, and he was happy to let everyone else get themselves killed chasing glory and honor. Farbarad, son of Farlung, had every intention of doing whatever he could to avoid living up to whatever expectations his folk had for him.

It was evening in Combe, and Farbarad was looking forward to washing down the dust of travel with a good mug of beer and a chat with the innkeeper, perhaps he could even enjoy a nice, luxurious…

The Dunedain stumbled as a young man flew out of the doors of the inn's tavern and slammed into him. "What on…? What do you mean by running into me? Explain yourself, man!"

The youth wiped at the blood running from his nose and coughed. "The blacksmith's eldest son is drunk and on a tare, sir. He's been goading almost everyone in the tavern, and he's already wrecked parts of the bar in his brawls."

Farbarad's eyes narrowed. "Do you mean to tell me that "The Blue Comb of Combe", the finest tavern in Bree-Land barring the "Prancing Pony", is being wrecked by a man not twenty-two winters old? Where is the blacksmith? Where is this pup's mother?" The youth stared up at him blankly. "Ah, I see. You don't know. Well, wait here, lad. I'll take care of the situation, as I always do." Farbarad shook his head in disgust and stormed into the bar.

The sight that greeted Farbarad as he walked through the swinging doors of the "Blue Comb" was a nasty one. Patrons were sprawled every which way, bearing bruises and bloody noses, chair were smashed, broken wineglasses littered the floor, and the bartender, a young, normally bouncy Hobbit, huddled in the corner of the bar, watching the brawl taking place in the center of the room in utter disbelief. Farbarad made his way over to the part of the bar closest to the Hobbit, and plunked down one of the coins from the troll-hoard.

"A mug of your finest ale, bartender." Farbarad frowned as the bartender didn't spare him or his coin a glance, preferring instead to mumble and occasionally glare at the brawl. Farbarad snapped his fingers in the barkeep's face. "Dudleigh! Dudleigh Proudfoot, you have a customer, can't you see that?"

The Hobbit glanced at Farbarad and laughed. It was a high-pitched, nervous sound, devoid of humor, that carried a strong hint of stress and the fact that the Halfling was three seconds away from ripping his own hair out. "The bar is closed, Farbarad. That young oaf has closed it down, don't you see."

Farbarad leant against the bar. "Yes, I can see that. When did this start?"

Dudleigh turned his head back to the fighting and huffed at the damage.

"The blacksmith's son got drunk and insulted another man's mother. That man hit him, the blacksmith's son hit him back, harder. The offended party had companions willing to fight for him, and things got worse from there."

"I see." Farbarad turned his attention to the fracas and frowned. The blacksmith's son, a young man almost as tall as Farbarad, was like a cliff at the seaside, albeit a drunken cliff, if such a thing was possible. His fists dealt tremendous blows to anyone who dared to try throwing him out of the tavern. Farbarad watched as the drunken man sidestep a punch from an even more intoxicated cobbler, grabbed the unfortunate man, and hurled him against a convenient wall. Another challenger had his cheek split by a vicious hook, and still another took an uppercut that sent him clean off his feet and onto a table.

Farbarad growled in disgust as the table shattered under the latest casualty. "Very well, it is high time for this to end." The Dunedain pushed himself away from the bar and swaggered up to the blacksmith's son, taking care to stand as tall as he possibly could. "Lad, you're making a mess in here, and the barkeep asked me to talk to you about it." The young man turned to face him, the smith's son's face a study in confusion.

"There's nothing to talk about. The first wretch hit me…I cannot remember quite why he did now, but the point is that I am going to clean this entire town of drunken louts."

"Then perhaps you should start with yourself. You're three sheets to the wind, friend, and I do not think your father or mother would be very proud of what you've done." Farbarad stepped back just as the drunk man threw a punch at him. "I see, so you decide to fight. I hope you're happy living with the consequences, then."

That last bit was more bravado than anything else. Dunedain were stronger than most men, and Farbarad was no exception to that rule, but he knew very little of fist-fighting, and he'd always relied on his size and musculature to cow his enemies. Trying to intimidate a drunk man, especially one who had just had his pride stung, was not a good idea.

Farbarad's head snapped back as the young man drove a jab into his face. The Dunedain recovered quickly, and sent a broad hook into his opponent's jaw, sending him to the ground in an awkward heap. "Had enough, lad?" Farbarad crouched to haul the young man to his feet for another punch, but the blacksmith's son kicked him in the chest with both feet, sending him on his back.

"No, I haven't…" the lad slurred. "But you will." Farbarad rolled out of the way just as the drunken man lunged at him from the ground, and the Dunedain somehow managed to gain his feet a split-second before the drunk did. Farbarad wove away from a few punches before finally getting the chance to grab the blacksmith's son by the belt and the back of his shirt and whirl him around and around before tossing him through the air.

The blacksmith's son landed hard and didn't get up, which set a worry-pit festering in the Dunedain's stomach. All he'd intended to do was rough the lad up a little. He'd had no intention of really injuring him, and he got the sinking feeling that he might have. He dropped his guard and walked over to the young man, stopping dead in his tracks as he caught a flicker of movement from his opponent.

"Ai." Farbard groaned, falling back into a ready stance as the blacksmith's son struggled to his feet and rushed him. The two locked arms around each other, and crashed from one end of the bar to the enough.

For all his strength, Farbarad was knocked to the ground. His enraged foe pinned him to the ground with a leg, and drove fist after fist into his face and chest. Being drunk hadn't affected this one's ability to fight as much as Farbarad had hoped, and the Dunedain felt himself slipping off into the dark land of blessed unconsciousness, a land where he would be free from the white fire that shot through his veins every time a punch landed. S

Suddenly, there was a new sound, a swinging, creaking sound, and the thud of boots on the floor. And then there was a soft, yet strong voice. "You've beaten him already, lad." There's no honor or glory in hitting a man who has had his feet bucked out from under him." There was an angry reply from the blacksmith's son, and then the crushing weight that was Farbarad's attacker was gone.

The Dunedain dragged himself into a sitting position to see a shortish, very broadly built man throwing the blacksmith's son into a wall. The lad, however, hadn't had a reputation in Combe as a brawler for nothing, and he lurched back towards the newcomer, swinging his fist in a powerful arc. The newcomer simply ducked and returned the attention with a vicious series of punches, including a jab to the gut that doubled the younger man. The spawn of the blacksmith was hurt, but still had fight in him.

The two went from one end of the bar to the other and back again, grappling, hurling each other about, and hitting much as Farbarad and the young man earlier, but it was obvious that the newcomer was handling himself far better than Farbarad. The bow-legged newcomer seized the blacksmith's son around the waist and hurled him through the open door and into the street.

"You are drunk, boy. Sleep it off. I'll see you in the morning when you fix the mess you have made." The newcomer walked back over to Farbarad and sighed. "You shouldn't have tried to break a horse so wild, friend."

Farbarad blinked at the man, taking in his features: his shoulder-length red hair, clear blue eyes, but most importantly the bowleggedness of his gait, the insignia worn on the man's shirt, and features worn from a life on the open country. "I thank you for your help and your advice, friend. However, I can't help but wonder what a man of Rohan, one of the Rohirrim unless I miss my guess, is doing in Combe."

The man smiled. "That, friend, is a long story, and one best told after you get some rest. Come, I'll help you to a room." The Eorling helped Farbarad to his feet and looped the much-larger Dunedain's long arm around his shoulders. 'I trust that you have a key to your room on you." Farbarad groaned out the negative, and the stranger shot a worried glance at him, a glance that shifted to Barkeep Proudfoot as the Hobbit cleared his throat.

"Yes, Master _Hobytla_?"

Proudfoot pulled a key out of his pocket and pressed it into the man of Rohan's hand. "Room 14 is where he usually stays, sir. And I go by barkeep. No need of fancy titles with me, sir."

"Thank you, barkeep. Come along, my bruised friend, we'd best get you to bed." Farbarad groaned again, and did his best to walk alongside the Eorling, but his beating had left him walking very shakily.

It is safe to say that Farbarad was greatly relieved when the Rohirrim laid him down on his bed, laid the key by the bedstead, and left him to sleep with a muttered. "Good night, Master Bruised-and-Battered. We'll meet again in the morning."

Farbarad muttered something barely intelligible in reply and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

**Postscript:**

**Okay, what is an Eorling doing in Eriador? Well, I know he's far from home, but bear with me, there is an explanation for all these. It covers many chapters, but there is an explanation. **


	2. Eofor and Plans Made

Of a Son of Eorl, a Partnership, and Preparations for Travel

Disclaimer: I (rather obviously) do not own Lord of the Rings, that belongs to JRR Tolkien and the Tolkien Foundation. 

**A/N: I'm going with Old English for a lot of the Rohirric names. I believe Eofor means wild boar. One of King Brego's sons was named Eofor, and I'm assuming that the name could well be born by other Eorlings, especially so since this story takes place over four hundred years after Prince Eofor's time. **

**Authors Note 2: I am guessing that it takes about two-three weeks, give or take a few days, to get from Combe to the Misty Mountains. That is, however, a guess, and I welcome a correction.**

Morning came too soon for the Dunedan, and Farbarad considered throwing the blankets over his head and going back to sleep, but a consistent pounding on the door made that impossible.

"Master Farbarad, sir, breakfast is being served in the tavern…well, what is left of it, anyway. You'd best come before all the food is eaten." Farbarads grunted and sat up, ignoring the way his bruised body protested his action.

"Very well, Master Proudfoot. I'll be right down." He paused and gingerly felt his bruised jaw. He decided to ask Proudfoot to send some hot water up to his room after breakfast.

The tavern was in a sorry state, to say the least. Broken wood and shards of glass still covered the floor, but he had to admit that things looked a little cleaner than they had been last night. The blacksmith's son was shuffling blearily around the room with a broom and dustpan under the watchful eye of the Eorling.

"Ah, I see that you dragged yourself out of bed at last, Master Ranger." Farbarad snorted. "Breakfast is over on the bar…I beg your pardon, but I don't quite remember your name."

Farbarad smirked. "I never gave it to you, friend Rohir. What is your name, for that matter?"

The Eorling grunted. "I am Eofor, and a wanderer in these parts. Is that enough information for you to give me your name, or would you like the names of my brothers and their sons?"

"Ay, it would be good to hear more of your family." He chuckled as Eofor's eyes narrowed. "I am Farbarad, son of Farlung, brother of a Ranger named Haduil, and also a wanderer." He caught Eofor curious look and frowned. "No, I am not the Ranger sort of wanderer. I was once one of them, but no longer, I split with them for reasons that are, frankly, not relevant to this talk. I now make my living as an aimless wanderer and gambler. I still wear the green and browns of the Ranger because it is light and blends in well, making it good for hunting or escaping an enemy. And if you were wondering, yes, I am of the Dunedain, for whatever that is worth."

"I see." The curiosity in Eofor's eyes redoubled, fairly sparkling over his mug of tea as he gulped from it. "Well I'm not so choosy in my company. We could wander together, if you'd like."

Farbarad speared a sausage at the end of a fork and arched an eyebrow at Eofor. "I thank you for the offer, but I have had seventy winters to learn that I do best on my own "

The Eorling smirked at that. "Ah, I understand, you were on the floor last night, being pummeled by a drunken sot because you do best on your own." He kicked a chair in Farbarad's direction. "Have a seat, friend. You shouldn't spend too much time on your feet after what you did last night."

Farbarad sank into the chair with a sigh, and halfheartedly munched on the sausage. "I'd be the first to admit that I cannot always take care of myself, but I do a fair job, and prefer to wander alone." He winced as his ribs twinged. "That being said, I can see the advantages of traveling with a companion such as yourself. Do you have any weapons?"

"A longsword, a spear, a bow, and a good horse." He eyed the other man's tattered leather jerkin. "I also have a good mail shirt and coif, and a thick leather jerkin of my own. Speaking of jerkins, yours is in a bad state. I'd be happy to lend you mine, if it fit you."

"No, that will not do. You're too broad and I'm too tall for any shirt of yours to fit, but I thank you for the offer." He extended a hand across the table to the son of Eorl. "We shall travel together then, Eofor."

The Dundadan chuckled at the way the young man's eyes lit up. He knew that he was good company, (or at least that was what he told himself), but he'd never met anyone as interested to travel with him as this one.

"Excellent." Eofor's smiled faded slightly and his brow furrowed. "What are our plans, Farbarad?"

Farbarad didn't exactly know how to reply. His original plan had been to spend a few days in Combe, gambling and drinking, and maybe even finding some female companionship, but his new partnership with the Eorling had changed all that. He was certain that Eofor wouldn't want to stay in Combe until he ran out of coin. Travel was definitely in the cards then, but where? "Our plans…" The Dunedan tapped his fingers against the table.

Would they travel through Eriador? No, Eofor had more than likely seen plenty of the country on his way from the Gap of Rohan. The coast of Eriador? No-Eofor would most likely want to go aboard a ship, and Farbarad could not handle sea travel.

Gondor? No, no, and no. Gondor was too far away, and Farbarad was in no mood to see his southern kinsmen. Rhun was likewise too far away, and too populated with Easterlings to be a pleasant place for a wanderer. Rhovanion? Now that had possibilities.

"Have you ever been to Rhovanion, Eofor?" The look on the young man's face said plainly that he had not. "Ah, you have missed out on some wondrous times, then.There are small towns aplenty in Rhovanion. There is the newly rebuilt city of Dale in Rhovanion, Dale with its tasty beer and wine from Mirkwood, and the taverns…to say nothing, of course, of the magnificent opportunities for work in the area. I don't get along well with Durin's folk, but I think I could stomach those of the Lonely Mountain. I have heard tell that they are generous with those who are willing to do a few tasks for them here and there." He paused as Eofor snorted and folded his arms across his chest.

"Yes?"

Eofor shook his head. "Are you always so mercenary, Master Farbarad?" Apparently so, Eofor decided. This man, from what Eofor had seen of him, was one who was generous if he could profit from it, and never undertook any task that didn't suit his purposes first. His brawl with the blacksmith's son seemed to have more to do with the fact that the drunkard was destroying Farbarad's favorite bar than keeping the peace.

But perhaps that was unfair to judge him on first appearances. It would probably just lead to problems and problems with the only man to be remotely friendly to him since he'd entered Eriador was not something he wanted. He especially didn't want that sort of trouble now that he was traveling with him. "I am sorry, Farbarad. I spoke without thinking."

"There's no need for apologies, Eofor. I make none for being a scoundrel. But going back to Rhovanion…how does a trip there sound to you?" He finished his now cold sausage and took a gulp of tea.

Eofor's lips curled in a wry grin as he took a pull from his own mug. "You have piqued my interest. By all means, let's go to Rhovanion."

"We shall need to get some supplies, of course. Food, water, lantern oil, cords of wood, extra bedrolls, feed for the animals. I trust you have some silver of your own."

"Some. I spent almost twelve years in the service of my lord and I have a little of my pay left." Eofor placed a small pouch of silver on the table. "Will what I have suffice?"

Farbarad sighed, rubbing his forehead as he eyed the purse. No, it would probably not fully suffice. It was barely enough for supplies for the trip over and the trip back, but that was all. He was very glad he took what he had from the troll-den. "Keep half your purse, Eofor. I'll pay for anything we need after I spend the half you give me. You are lucky that you found such a wealthy partner."

Eofor frowned. "I am sorry, but most of what I earned came in the form of land or food, and I gave my land to my older brother. Perhaps I should have sold it, but there's nothing for it now."

Farbarad chuckled. "No indeed there isn't. Anyway, I am sure you did what was best for your house, though I sincerely hope that you won't be inspired to similar acts of charity when we are in Rhovanion. Oh, speaking of charity, I would like to take a look at your weapons. I pulled a pair of fine Dunedain-forged longswords from a troll's den a few days ago. Perhaps you might find a use for one of them."

If anything, Eofor's frown deepened. "I won't take the sword you're offering if I must sell my own weapon to fuel your gambling and drinking." He winced at his companion's offended look. And here he'd been trying not to antagonize the Dunedan.

He forged on ahead anyway. It was no good doing things by halves. "That sword has been in my family for a long time, and I won't part with it."

"I never asked you to." Farbarad cursed himself for sounding so pained. "I'm a scoundrel, Eofor, but I'll never ask you to sell anything precious to you just so I can get drunk. Never, I swear that to you on the graves of my father and his father."

"I know you asked me not to apologize, but I must. What I said didn't do you justice."

The Dunedan waved his hand with a half-grin. "Apology accepted. Let us never speak of this again." He glanced at his empty fork and grimaced. "We leave at noon by the clock-tower's reckoning. I suggest that you pay your debts and pack. We'll have a lot of ground to cover before nightfall."

Eofor nodded and poured the contents of his purse out into two piles on the table, taking one pile and placing it back in the purse. "Then I had best get to work. I will pay for our rooms and stables while you take the rest of this silver and purchase our supplies."

Farbarad swept the coins into his own purse with an almost greedy look. "Then I shall see you at the grocer's at noon." Farbarad rose to his feet with practiced grace, and walked through the swinging tavern door in a heartbeat.

Buying the necessary supplies was easy. Combe had only two shops, a baker's and a dry goods, and Farbarad never visited the baker unless he stayed in town for longer then a day. The grocer at the dry goods store always carried either dried or salted beef and smoked sausages, and he usually had a few sacks of biscuit ready whenever the Dunedan came to town. The grocer was gone today, and Farbarad had to do his own measuring and packaging for the trip. It was all busy work, but there was no way around it.

He stared at the pile of blankets in the corner of the store, running his fingers through each. _"What we need are the thickest and largest blankets possible, and we shall need many of those. I nearly froze in the High Pass once, and I am not interested in a repeat of that misadventure._" It was no easy task to find the blankets he wanted, but find them he did, and six of them at that. He stacked the blankets on top of his other purchases and moved through the shop, glancing about himself in some consternation.

"Is something wrong, wanderer?" The grocer's father, an old, lean man who went by the name of Tedeman, shut his book and spared the Dunedan a unkindly stare.

Tedeman was one of the few locals in Combe who had continued to resent Farbarad's presence in the town. That the man was speaking to him at all was a great surprise. He glanced back at the old man and chose his words carefully: it would not do to make an enemy of the grocer by insulting his father. "Yes, there is, Master Tedeman. Your son has moved the lantern oil and flints to another shelf again."

The old man grumbled at that, set his book down, took up a pen and paper, and hobbled over to the Dunedan. "Lantern oil, say ye?" He ran a pair of old eyes around the shop. "It is over in the shelf by the window. The flints are one shelf down from that." He paused to work a piece of straw around in his mouth. "You're leaving town?"

Farbarad nodded, wondering exactly what Tedeman was getting at. "Yes, I am leaving town and Eriador, for that matter. I am going over High Pass into the Wilderland, around a fortnight's journey."

"Ah, so you're going where there are more strange folk like you. I trust you'll be staying there." Tedeman's dry lips crinkled up in a dark smile. "Although, my son would be sorry to see you leave for good. Apparently he sees worthless vagabonds such as yourself as good customers." The man walked over to stacks of tied wood by the door and glanced back over his shoulder at Farbarad. "High Pass is cold, from what I've heard, and there isn't much wood up there. You can bring your own wood, but good tinder cannot hurt. There are some small bundles of it over there, and you'll need one bundle of wood if you can' find enough or you run out up there."

"Quite true. I'll take three of the little stick bundles and four or five small logs, bound in a leather tie. I'm surprised to see you helping me, Tedeman."

The old man's eyes flashed. "I would do anything to get you out of town and into the wild. I know that my son likes you, but I also know how much money you win off him at cards. I also know you cheat, and I know that I have to do odd work in the tavern to help him pay his debts. Having you safely out of town for a few weeks is a blessing to me."

Farbarad's eyes narrowed. He may have cheated at cards when playing with the bumpkins in the tavern, but he respected Tedeman's son, and hadn't cheated him in any games they had played, the implication that he had was not a welcome one.

Tedeman turned back to the shelves and tapped a finger on his lips. "You'll need some tinder for fire." He took a few small bundles of sticks and laid them on the floor by the wood. "Do you have any spare water skins?" Farbarad, his pride still wounded, shook his head in response to the old man's question, and quietly seethed.

Tedeman snorted again and took a few empty skins off the shelf closest to his son's desk. "Take some spares anyway, they will be handy if you travel away from a source of water." He laid the skins by the other purchases, grunting in annoyance as one slipped off the pile and onto the floor.

"I hear tell that you might be traveling with the stranger who came in last night." He turned at Farbarad's muffled snort and frowned. "I see. You are more close-lipped than you normally are. What else do you want?"

Farbarad pulled himself out of his sulk and gave the man a thin smile. "Yes, I travel with the Eorling, and no, I don't think I need anything else…ah. Actually, I do need two bottles of brandy." He caught Tedeman's knowing look and shook his head. "No, not for the pleasure of drink. The brandy will warm my companion or myself up if it gets too cold."

"I see." Tedeman gave him a clearly skeptical little smile before turning to the scrap of paper he had been writing on. "Will that be all?" The older man pressed the receipt into his hand when the Dunedan nodded, and his smile widened as the big man's eyebrows arched.

It appeared that traveling with Eofor would be more expensive than he had thought it would be. "_His silver barely covers three-quarters of this bill. I sincerely hope this Eorling appreciates the sacrifice I'm making for him.."_ Farbarad paid for the groceries, skillfully ignoring the malicious smile on Tedeman's face as the grocer's father swept the coins into the store's strongbox. "_I'm almost certain he overcharged me, but I have neither the time to argue nor the inclination to jeopardize my friendship with the grocer by haggling with his father. Shame really, but it cannot be helped." _Storekeep and scoundrel moved the supplies to the door, a task that became easier as Eofor arrived and leant a hand.

Farbarad paused in his work to spare his partner a glance. "You are early, Eofor."

"It took very little time to pay for the rooms and stable, and I had my fill of sitting about some time ago." Eofor let out a grunt as he picked two of the bundles of firewood up and moved them outside.

Farbarad followed the Eorling out with a sack of biscuit over his shoulders, and the Dunedain gaped on seeing Eofor's horse. He was not certain he had ever seen such a healthy and handsome mount before, and he had seen plenty of horses in his life. Cardolan, who was not the smallest pony in Eriador, looked almost like a foal next to the great chestnut brute beside him.

"My word." He shut his mouth and did his best to ignore the broadly smiling Eofor. Farbarad felt that the short Eorling was taking far too much pleasure in his awe and in the Dunedain's inexperience with horseflesh.

"Eacen may seem impressive, friend but he's smaller than many of his kind, though I daresay that he has more strength than mounts much larger than him. He's much like myself in that way."

Farbarad turned away from the horse with an amused snort. "That's good to hear. I shall have plenty of use for your and Eacen's strength in the coming trip, as Cardolan can't even begin to carry all I bought. Come, help me tie these supplies onto our comrades."

Eofor ran a keen eye over the pony and nodded approvingly. "Nay, he couldn't carry all you bought, but he is a strong little lad. Do you mind that I put his saddle and what gear you had on him when you came into town last night back on?"

The Dunedan clapped Cardolan's neck and shook his head. "No, I don't mind you doing that. You did me a great service, friend. As for Cardolan's strength; aye, he is strong, but slothful, very slothful. He's a mercenary little beast."

The Eorling grinned and fell to work loading Eacen while Farbarad took all but a couple bottles of wine out of Cardolan's saddlebags and carried them to in his private cellar at the "Blue Comb".

There was little sense in hauling around eighteen bottles of wine on the trip unless he planned to sell them in Rhovanion. In the first place, that much wine was too much of a burden for Cardolan, and Farbarad knew he could not drink that much wine on the trip without being inebriated for at least half the trip, and hung-over for the second half.

Pony and horse soon found themselves fully loaded, and each bore their respective masters out of Combe. Eacen moved with a crisp marching step, almost as if he was on parade. Cardolan, none too eager to leave Combe, shuffled along behind the larger animal, casting almost sulky glances at the town he was leaving.

**AN:**

Okay, here we go again. Eofor's reasons for being in Eriador won't really be pinpointed for a while, but there will be references to the reason throughout the story, as well as in the first chapter of the Eriadorian Interludes. 

As for Farbarad's taking down 2 Trolls, well the first he just tricked into walking into a trap, and the second was injured. No matter how big something is, if it's leg is damaged, it will have trouble fighting. If the person fighting it starts hitting the injury, that wounded creature will be in a load of pain. 

The fact that he has an Elvish axe, when Numenorean and Elvish weapons are known to be more effective against a Troll's hide doesn't hurt either. 

Also this copy was corrected for a factual problem pointed out by a kind reviewer


	3. Interlude 1: Moving Along

**Eofor-Moving Along**

**Disclaimer: I, quite simply, do not own, have not owned, and never will own the Lord of the Rings. That belongs to JRR Tolkien and the Tolkien Foundation. **

**This is Interlude 1, set somewhere in Chapter 1, and tells a bit about Eofor. I noted in the A/N last chapter that I would do an interludes thing, but decided to make it part of the story rather than a new one. **

Eofor, son of Etheod, brother of a man of the same name, rolled and rocked gently in the saddle like a cork on a gentle wave. The road underneath him seemed to go on forever, no matter how long he'd been on it to start with. The lands here were very new to him, very unlike those around the Gap of Rohan, and each fork in the road brought out the trusty map his brother gave him before he left. That map was worth its weight in gold, because he'd be completely and hopelessly lost without it. He reigned up as he came to another fork in the road and rolled out his map.

Thankfully, this road had some good road signs (the others, when present, which was not as often as they should be, were hard to read), and he put his map away. One sign, pointing aast, read "To Bruinen Ford" and a long number underneath that, while the other read: To Combe" and noted that he was six miles from the town.

The Bruinen and the Misty Mountains really weren't where he'd planned to go, the road to Combe seemed to be the right one. He rode along, following the Combe branch. It was evening now, and this Combe seemed as good a place as any to stay the night and rest Eacen, though to be honest, he knew nothing of Combe or if it even had an inn. If it didn't, he would just have to cast himself on the mercy of one of the townsfolk.

He took a wistful glance behind him, and sighed. Not only did he know nothing of Combe, he really knew none of the people in Eriador. There would be no familiar faces to greet him here, and what he had heard from his brother about the Eriadorians told him that he may not be kindly received by them. Part of him wanted to turn Eacen around and ride back to the Gap. He slapped the side of his head with a closed side. That was folly for two reasons.

First, while he'd found a number small villages and outposts who would sell him what he needed for his journey, some of them had charged him a pretty penny to do it. To turn about now would double what he'd already spent, and all for nothing.

Second, while Etheod hads made it clear that Eofor was free to stay in his homesteading, he hadn't felt comfortable taking him up on the offer. There were too many old ghosts in the settlement, too many memories of his dead to make staying there at all pleasant. The fact that he had made some enemies among the other families while carrying out his service to his lord was just another reason to go looking for new pastureland, so to speak.

For those reasons, going back was not an option, well, not a good one anyway. He scratched at his chin. Perhaps Etheod was wrong about the Eriadorians. Maybe he would find one among them who would be happy to help him, one who'd lend him his trust. If all else failed, he could always seek out one of the Rangers who'd stopped him on the way into Breeland and asked him his business.

The Dunedan in question was an imposing sort, with a weather-lined face, an age in his eyes, and obvious power in his frame that left the Eorling awestruck. He decided that those were the sort of people he could get used to fighting alongside. It'd be a glorious thing to adventure alongside these men, if they'd have him, and their cause, from what he heard from the Ranger, was a noble one. As a knight of Rohan, defending the weak was high on his list, although Etheod said that sometimes he put that above the more mundane and still vital goal of obeying orders and keeping your head out of the clouds. Etheod was a pessimist through and through, but Eofor would miss his brother nonetheless.

A sudden cry sent his hand to his sword and his eyes scanning the area for whatever had made that sound. It turned out to be an older man in a cart, who was giving Eofor the strangest look. "What in all that is…" The man shook his head. "Your hair…why I have never…" The man set his jaw and stared hard at the Eorling. "Who are ye and what are you doing with such odd hair and such a fine horse? If you're a bandit, I have nothing of worth."

Eofor blinked. It appears that Etheod was right about the Eriadorians, and the Bree-Landers in particular. This was not going well. "I am Eofor, the son of Etheod of Rohan. I have red hair because my father had it, and his mother before him. I have a fine horse because I served in the 3rd_Eored_ of the Gap of Rohan. Like my brother Rohirrim, I am a knight, and no bandit."

"A knight, eh? Rohan, eh? You are far from your fief, knight. What brings you here?"

Now it was Eofor's turn to shake his head. Apparently the concept of knight was different from Rohan to Eriador. "I have no fief. The lord of the eoreds of the Gap has his fief, and all our loyalty. The next man in rank, the captain of my _eored,_ has a true manor and land, and men to work it, but the rest of the _eored _are all retainers to him. Most Rohirrim earn the title of knight because of our noble deeds, not because of birth. Our pay is a decent plot of land for our family to live on and some silver, though the amount depends on how well our captain is doing that year. When we aren't riding in the _eored_, we till the ground. When we ride, our wives and sons till it. I'm here because I wanted to see the world."

The man was plainly skeptical. "No manor? You farm when you aren't on errantry? If it's as you say, then you men of Rohan are an odd sort. You wanted to see the world, did you?" He cleared his throat. "Such folk are trouble. If everyone stayed where they belonged and kept their noses out of each other's business, as we Eriadorians do, life would be simpler and better. But now that you've come this far, what do you think of our land?"

"The land here's more uneven and more forested than the Riddermark, and its people seem unable to take their own advice. " Eofor bit out. "If you mean me to keep my nose out of other's business, then keep yours out of mine."

The man gave him a short smile. "You have a wit enough, young'un, and your point is well taken. Night's getting on, and ye might want to think about staying at the "Blue Comb of Combe" not that I'm encouraging you to, but you might as well get a good night's sleep. I've spent long enough here, no sense in burning out the oil in me lamp jawing to you. Farewell."

The man stirred his carthorse up, and the cart rattled off before Eofor could say anything. Annoying as the man had been, he'd given Eofor good advice. He pushed Eacen into a faster walk. He reached Combe in good time, and ride straight for the building with the blue Comb on its sign. He handed Eacen over to a grubby stable-boy, and helped unload the horse.

**A/N: **

**Okay. Tolkien refers to the horsemen of both Gondor and Rohan as knights, but there isn't a lot of reference to lords or fiefs in Rohan. There are some though, so it seems that the system is feudal and manorial, to an extent. I would imagine that there is a lord of various segments of Rohan, and the captains of the **_**eoreds**_** are his lieutenants who manage the land under him and draw together retainers, Rohirrim for the **_**eoreds**_** when they go to war. My medieval history is a little rusty, but if I remember correct, under manorialism, most of the regular rank and file knights had a manor, and peasants to work the land. **

**For the purposes of this story, the manor is the captain of the **_**eored's**_**, and the other Rohirrim are farmer/knights who receive something in the way of pay from their captain. I'd imagine they are out on maneuvers and patrols often, so the eldest children and their wives would handle as much of the farm work as they could. Perhaps some of these farmer-knights have a hired hand to help care for things while they are gone. **

**This is all a little odd, but we learned almost nothing about the society of Rohan, really, other than that they had nobles and that it was open country and divided into a number of sectors, (Eastfold, Westfold, etc), under a lord of sorts who answered to the king, so there is room for some interpretation (however poor it may be) s**

**So Rohirrim are knights, but there is a hierarchy that means that not all knights are equal. **


	4. Into the Wilds and Straight into Bandits

-1On the Road

Disclaimer: I (rather obviously) do not own Lord of the Rings, that belongs to JRR Tolkien and the Tolkien Foundation.

**Authors Note I am guessing that it takes about three weeks, give or take a few days, to get from Combe to the Misty Mountains. That is, however, a guess, and I welcome a correction.**

The ride was a quiet one, and the day a fine one, and Farbarad and Eofor were soon in very high spirits, swapping tales and filling the woods around them with the sound of laughter. In all of this talk, Eofor told his companion something of his life in the Gap of Rohan, and Farbarad told the Eorling of some of the history of Eriador. Eofor's brow furrowed when the Dunedan told him of the Witch-King's flight after his armies were routed by the forces of Earnur, Glorfindel, and Cirdan at the battle of Fornost.

"Do you mean to tell me that no man can harm this wraith? Does this mean that he'll never fall until his master does?"

Farbarad shook his head, staring pensively at the road ahead for a moment. "No, I don't think that is what the prophecy means. Glorfindel said that he would't fall at the hand of a man, but he did say that the Lord of the Nazgul would have a doom, and an end. How he will fall if he can't be slain by any living man is a deeper puzzle than I care to consider, but I'll tell you this. Prophecies are often fulfilled in odd ways." He paused, staring into a nearby clump of trees. "And brothers have even odder ways of turning up when you least wish their presence. What possessed you to find me, Haduil?"

Haduil stepped out of the grove with a very small smile. "You noticed I was there. I cannot say I'm surprised, Farbarad." Eofor glanced between the two Dunedan and fought a grin back. This was going to be interesting. "Where're you going?"

"I surprise you, brother? Now that's good to hear. I'm traveling to Rhovanion with this Eorling." He narrowed his eyes at the Ranger. "Why are you following me?"

Haduil circled his brother, coming closer and closer with each pass. "I follow you out of brotherly concern, Farbarad." He glanced at his brother's new coat. "I see you made out like a bandit after you slew the Trolls."

"I would've taken all the silver if I'd truly made out like a bandit. What brotherly concern brought you here?"

"There've been reports of bandits between here and the mountains, and one band of them is in the area. My rangers have given them the chance to leave, but the ruffians have so far ignored the offer. I intend to…remove them from the area tomorrow evening. You should be on the lookout for them."

Eofor cleared his throat. "Thank you for the warning, Master Haduil. I wasn't really aware that Eriador had bandit problems until today. I'll keep a sharp eye out for them. Perhaps we could even do your work for you."

Haduil glanced over at the Eorling and nodded. "Hmm, I hope you do. I dislike having to kill folk not aligned with the Eye." He ran a hand through his dark hair with a sigh and locked eyes with Farbarad again. "We have other guests in the area, some welcome, some not. I received a pigeon perhaps a week or so ago informing me that an _elleth_, a she-Elf, of Imladris passed one of our outposts near the Misty Mountains two or so weeks ago, she is about a day's travel from here, or less.

Haduil took a step closer to Farbarad and dropped his voice. "I must needs ask another favor from you. Please, keep an eye out for her in case she needs your help in any matter. The rangers at the base of the mountains tell me that she was well-armed and apparently tracking some sort of creature, perhaps in the service of the Enemy, perhaps not. Some of my own men may well have had an encounter with what the Noldor was tracking. One of the rangers reported seeing a very large cloaked and hooded figure moving through the woods yesterday. The footprints were of vaguely mannish origin, but it wore hobnail boots, presumably of Orcish make. That the brute was able to elude the ranger following him is another cause for alarm. Stay on your guard."

Farbarad grimaced. _"Bandits and an Orc-like beast? Ai, this was NOT in my plan when I suggested traveling to Rhovanion."_"I almost wish you hadn't told me of this, but that would have meant that it all would have caught me by surprise. Thank you, Haduil, we shall be looking for her as we travel, that is a favor I can grant you." He looked over his shoulder at Eofor. "What my brother told us reminds me that I haven't given you your new sword." He drew the sheathed weapon from a bundle at Cardolan's side, and held it out to the Eorling.

Eofor nudged Eacen forward a few paces, and took the sword, and unsheathed the long, broad blade. He ran a critical eye along the weapon. "This is a fine weapon, better, though I blush to say it, then my own sword. You Dunedain know a fair bit about of weaponsmithing." He sheathed the blade and hung it on his belt by its frog.

Haduil grunted. "Yes, I believe we do. Our forefathers would be very disappointed if the surviving Dunedain didn't value good smith-work." He glanced over at Farbarad. _'And our father would be disappointed to see what you have become. You should have remained a ranger, you should have stayed at my side, but you choose to waste your skills like this._' "It is, for once, good to see you again, Farbarad. Stay sharp on your travels."

Haduil was gone before Farbarad could even say his farewell. The wanderer smirked as he watched his brother vanish into the grove. '_I am surprised Haduil did not take the opportunity to lecture me. He and I are the last surviving sons of Farlung, and it is a shame that we do not get on better.' _He shook his head and turned to the Eorling.

"Well, you have met my one living brother. What did you think of him?"

Eofor's brow furrowed. "He seemed a good sort of man, much like the veterans in my _eored_. He did seem disappointed in you, though. Is that because you left the Rangers, or did you two always have bad blood between each other?"

Farbarad chewed his lower lip and looked down at the ground again. "Haduil feels I should have carried on in father's footsteps, and he has never forgiven me for not doing so. He dislikes my wastrel habits and my "selfishness". I, in turn, have not fully forgiven him for the loss of our other brother, like myself a ranger under his command. He was killed when Haduil and I were helping the Elves control some Trolls who were trying to leave the fells. Now our family has only three members: Haduil, my sister, and myself, and I left the Rangers after Mabhod's death."

"I am sorry to hear of your loss, friend." Eofor's eyes were clouded, with some sad memory or another, but he didn't press the Eorling. When Eofor wanted to speak of his family, he would, and until then the Dunedan felt the issue was none of his business.

"The dead are just that, the dead. They've no right to have such a hold on the living. Now, We waste time with all this chatter. We have ground to cover before nightfall."

"Aye, ground to cover, and night's coming quick." Eofor urged Eacen into a trot, a gait that poor Cardolan was hard pressed to match. Eorling and Dundan covered a fair bit of ground before nightfall, but it was still a very long way to High Pass.

Eofor thrust both his spear and Farbarad's into the ground by their buttspikes, took a line of rope and tied it between the shafts of the spears before laying a broad sheet of wax-covered cloth over the rope. A few sharpened sticks pinned the edges of the cloth to the ground, and the end result was a very rough looking tent, open at both ends, but fairly proof against rain and wind.

"I've raised the tent, Farbarad. How is the fire coming?"

The blaze and smoke from Farbarad's side of the camp told him better than any words how well it was going: it was going well indeed. Eofor had agreed to cook for the evening, though all that consisted of was boiling some dried meat and pouring water into another pot for tea. Unfortunately, the quiet meal they'd planned fell apart, in a series of events that happened so fast they may as well have happened all at once.

A twig snapped, Farbarad's head shot up, he snatched a hand-axe from another loop on his belt, and he drew it back to throw as six figures burst from some cover, bellowing and shouting like men possessed. Eofor was unable to get to his shield in time, and instead took a sword in each hand and stepped off to the right as an arrow sang past his ear.

At the same time, startled whinnies rose up from the horses, followed by the thud of hooves, a sickening crack, and a gurgling, very human shriek. Someone had tried to steal Eacen, and had learned the hard way that this horse's master had taught him to deal with thieves.

Another arrow whined by the Eorling, and he rushed the charging bandits, knowing that getting close to his attackers was the best way to avoid fire from the archer. He swept both blades at the first man to enter range. The bandit blocked the first stroke, but the second sliced through leather and flesh to take the bandit's head off.

Eofor jumped to the right again, cursing as another arrow came within a hand's breath of hitting him. "The fire is giving their men in the woods light to shoot at us. I know it's too much to ask for you to kill the fire now, but can you throw a spear at their archer?"

His companion swore back at the Eorling and threw his hand-axe into the forehead of closest man charging him before seizing the Elven two handed axe and driving what looked like the bandits' captain back from his front-line row to the side of a lean, ferret-like bandit with a two-handed blade.

"I'm afraid I can't. Things are about to get troublesome over here." Troublesome indeed. The bandits were synchronizing their attacks, and try as he may Farbarad couldn't open a hole in either's guard, and he was being pushed back across the camp. Yet things were not utterly disastrous. A scream from Eofor's side of the camp told him that the Eorling had slain another man.

"You chose the wrong camp to raid, friend." The Dunedan sprang back for some more breathing room and struck savagely at one of his attackers, only for the man to take the blow on his shield.

Fortunately for Farbarad, the bandit captain glanced back at Eofor and growled. "Herthan is being cut to pieces by that red-haired brute. You'd best help our him, Brant. I shall handle the ranger."

Brant, the scarred, thin man who seemed utterly mismatched to the broad-bladed sword in his hands, nodded and darted to his companion's side, grumbling as an arrow whipped past him. Eofor had created the perfect opening in Herthan's guard, but stopped in mid-death strike as a hideous roar rose over the din. Another roar, followed by the blood-curdling sound of men shrieking caused all eyes to turn to the tangle of brush the archer had been using as cover.

"Robrant? Tom?" The only response was an inhuman howl of victory and the crashing of brush as whatever it was dashed away from its victims. "Oh…" the captain's face was ashen, and he dropped to his knees. "My brother is dead."

Farbarad's eyes burned, and he took a step forward. "Perhaps you should join him." He twirled his axe around in one big hand, bringing it around behind his back to deliver a killing blow.

Eofor's crossed blades intercepted the heavy bit as it came down, and the Eorling glared up into Farbarad's grey eyes. "I know this sort of thing is a hanging offense, but at least give him a chance to beg for his life, to give reasons why he should live."

The Dunedan laughed. "Really? Did you grant that sort of courtesy to any of the men you've executed?"

A vein in the Eorling's jaw ticked. "I've only killed four men off the field of battle, and yes, I did give them a chance to argue their case. Their arguments were poor ones, which is why they died, but I at least heard them out."

"How merciful." Farbarad's lips curled into a bitter smile. "Very well, do things your way. I won't interfere."

The red-headed man rounded on the bandit. "You and your men attacked us without provocation, without warning, and more than likely with the intent to strip our very corpses of their possessions. I could execute you for what you've done tonight, never mind the other crimes you've more than likely committed in Eriador. You have two chances to give me a good reason to spare your life."

The man stared at Eofor, wide-eyed. "My band is gone. The horse killed one. You killed two, the Ranger one, and whatever that beast was killed my best warrior and the only true archer in our band. All that is left is Brant, Herthan, and myself. We're not the threat we were, mas…" his voiced trailed off as Eofor pressed the point against his throat.

"That's not a good reason. The people in this land don't normally carry arms, you do. Three armed men could easily terrorize ten unarmed folk, perhaps more. You have one last chance."

"We'll stay to meet with the Rangers, and we'll give back what we stole, and…and we'll leave this area, go across the mountains to Rhovanion, or maybe south to Gondor." Eofor raised an eyebrow. "You have my word! Please, spare me!"

"The word of a bandit isn't worth much to me but Rangers will be coming to remove you from this land tomorrow. You'll keep your oath if you want to live." He glanced over at his shoulder at his surly companion. "Farbarad. Do you have a pen and paper?" The Dunedan nodded. "Then write a letter to your brother outlining the agreement. It may save their lives when Haduil and his men arrive."

Farbarad huffed. "I don't like doing this, but I know you won't let me rest until I do it." He drew the pen and paper from his pack and scribbled the note on one side and signed it, passing it and the pen to Eofor, who read it over and signed it in his turn.

The Eorling shoved the paper into the bandit's chest. "Take it and get out of my sight. We will bury your dead."

"That is a death sentence in itself, sir!" That was Herthan. "The beast that killed our comrades is still in the area, and he'll kill us for sure." "Sir" was apparently not of the same mind as his former foe, and he aimed a kick at the other man's shins.

The man's pained yells and the sound of an argument brought Farbarad out of his sulk. "Let them stay, Eofor. You were unwilling to do it my way, so you may as well do things "mercifully"." He grabbed the shovels from their place by the horses and threw one at Herthan, and another at the bandit leader. "Leave your weapons by my tent. Bury the dead you find in the circle of firelight, dig the holes deep. Leave your other two dead for the morning. Eofor will take first watch over you hounds."

Farbarad slipped his axe back to the iron ring on his belt, took his bow up from off the ground, and started for the tent with a handful of waybread and a skin of water. "Farbarad?"

The Dunedan turned back around and looked wearily at Eofor. "Yes?"

"We could load our horses and take up the trail of this creature while it is still close by. We may have a chance of catching and killing it before nightfall tomorrow."

"You think we should leave the bandits here, unattended?" Farbarad shook his head. "No. They operate at night, much like Orcs. I'm not interested in risking them breaking what word they gave you. As to the creature, whatever it was, it seems to prefer battle at night, and the shortness of the bandits' screams suggests that it is a skilled warrior. I would rather hunt a brute like that during the day."

"I see. You want to keep the bandits here, and let a creature more fell then they have free reign."

"I wanted to kill them, Eofor. It was your idea to show them mercy. That precludes our following the beast. And I'm not sure that it will kill again. It could have attacked us any time tonight, but it chose to kill the bandits. I suspect that this supposed creature is simply a woodsman with a vendetta against bandits."

"What about the howl and roar? Those were not a man's warcries."

"Perhaps he pretends to be an Orc to terrify his enemies. My decision stands, Eofor. We will wait until daylight to take up the trail."

The Dunedan ignored Eofor's sigh and retired to the tent. The Eorling sat down heavily and started cleaning his blades, watching the surviving bandits with narrowed eyes.

**A/n: **This is probably a bit much information, but I envisioned Farbarad as being around six and a half feet tall, above average for a Dunedain in the 3rd age, and Eofor as standing not much taller then five foot eleven inches, a small man by Tolkien's standards.

**The whole what to do with the bandits thing at the end is a little odd, I'll grant. However, seems that it fits with the very early-mid Middle Ages setting of LOTR. The system of Justice, such as It was, in the middle ages was rough and not always just, and I think some of it may carry over into Tolkien's world. **

**I imagine that there's no real central authority in Eriador (none was ever really mentioned in the books besides the Shire's until Aragorn returned), and so their way of handling criminals, including trials, If they existed, would be quick and certain: death, exile, fines, and striping come to mind as suitably medieval punishments. All that can be good at deterring the bandits and their ilk, but there's not a lot of checks against it in case the man they're hanging is the wrong one. **

**MiniFruitBat noted in their review of the last chapter that brandy isn't too good at warming people in cold weather. Ordinarily I'd agree, but I don't think they know what we do about chemistry and medicine, and so it seems that a likely thing that they would think brandy would help. (it and other spirits were seen as a tonic against the cold until a bit into the Victorian times, I believe) **


	5. Losing the Trail

Taking up the Trail

Disclaimer: I (rather obviously) do not own Lord of the Rings, that belongs to JRR Tolkien and the Tolkien Foundation.

Eofor and Farbarad moved on at daybreak, followed by the bandits, who wanted to bury the rest of their dead as best they could. Their path led them past the place where the bandit archer and his guard were killed the night before. The place was an awful sight, the ground around the bodies was dark with dried blood and the bodies themselves each marred with a huge wound, running from shoulder to waist. One man had an arm severed cleanly at the elbow, the lower part laying a ways off with a battle-axe tightly clenched in its hand. There were tracks leading to the bodies and leading away, some were large, and made by a heavy boot, but these were soon replaced by larger, wolf-like tracks the size of a dinner plate. Farbarad's eyebrows rose at those. Whatever Warg had left those would be the largest one he'd ever seen in Eriador.

The bandit chieftain's eyes welled up on seeing the bodies, and he looked away from them. The other two men looked a little sick, not so much at the carnage as at the fact that what was left here used to be two of their comrades.

Farbarad glanced down at the bodies with pursed lips, and shook his head before dismounting, passing Cardolan's reins to Eofor before crouching along the trail. Eyes long used to hunting ran along the trail, and the Dunedan followed his gaze with a stooped back. His long arms swung down along the tracks, outlining them, feeling the hardness of the ground they were made in.

"The trail is not a bad one for going on, but we've given him a valuable headstart. There's nothing for it, and no use whining about the hours we gave the brute. We'll have to follow this trail as best we can." He straightened, glancing back at Eofor, who was still staring at the bodies.

"Come along, Eorling, we don't have all day! He can't be more than thirty miles ahead of us, if that, and we have the advantage of sturdier mounts than his Warg likely is. We should be able to catch up to the creature easily enough, as long as he hasn't doubled back on his trail."

The Eorling continued to stare down at the dead men, and Farbarad, irritated by the delay, started to walk over to him when the other man raised his head and fixed worried eyes on him. "I hope he doesn't double back on his trail, we could well end up like these bandit acquaintances of ours if we did."

"Oh? How so?"

"I can recognize the work of a good swordsman, and I can recognize the work of a very skilled swordsman, and these wounds were dealt by the latter. His attack came too soon for them to do more than perhaps grab a sword or axe and turn to face him, and ended too soon for either to wound him. I'm no coward, Farbarad, but I don't relish having a beast like this take me by surprise."

Farbarad felt the blood drain from his face, and bit his lower lip. "That's an encouraging point. Is there anything else you'd like to say to further remind me of my folly in listening to you last night?"

Eofor growled. "No I don't. Shall we continue?"

Farbarad tried to glare at him, but he couldn't summon up the anger, and finally his shoulders just sagged. "I am sorry, Eofor. I'm tired, and I'm frustrated at picking up this cold trail, and I'm angry with myself for being petulant and ignoring your advice about leaving to follow him last night. The bandits really were too few to be of much trouble to anyone before Haduil and his rangers arrived. I was wrong."

Eofor leaned forward to clap Eacen on the neck and peer intently at Farbarad. "I can't say I'm not surprised to hear this, I know little of you, but what I do know says that you don't say this often. But no matter, you are my captain, and I know you will do what you can to set this right."

Farbarad's face blossomed into a real smile, and he all but pirouetted back to the tracks. "I'm glad to hear that. Are we ready to find and face this beast?" Eofor dipped his head once, and the Dunedan's smile widened. "Capital, capital. Let's set to work then. The tracks are leading that way" He pointed off to the east.

"And they seem to go for as far as my eyes can see. It looks like he just took a straight route through this time. Perhaps he's found a corridor between the patrols of the ranger detachments. It's that or he's just a fool, but we'll have him either way. We shall have to track him through the night by torchlight to make up for lost time, but I have a cat's eyes, so that won't be too ill a thing."

Farbarad clambered up onto Cardolan and edged him on, keeping keen grey eyes down at the tracks as he rode along and, he was muttering to himself. "Yes, yes, yes, excellent, he is leaving a trail a child could follow. Perhaps Haduil should discipline the Eanger who lost track of this beast, it's obvious where he is going."

Eofor watched all this with raised eyebrows before shaking his head and joining him, riding on the opposite side of the trail and doing his best to ignore his friend's muttering.

The Dunedan's muttering stopped and his head rose as a thought struck him. "Have we really thought about a strategy for dealing with this creature or are we going to try to go in blind and hope for the best?"

Eofor glanced up the along their route, his eyes focusing on a point on the horizon, and he rode silently on, mulling over potential plans and tactics. "If he's in cover, then we'll have to dismount and go in after him, and that isn't a situation I relish. I'll go into the cover first to draw his attack, and you can try to stab him with your spear while I have his attention. Worse still, if he's in cover and ambushing us with a bow…it isn't a proposition I like to think about, but it could mean that we might not be able to both fight him. Arrows to the chest are hard to fight around, if you catch my meaning. Now, if he missed, you could get yourself to cover and shoot back while I charged the cover from behind, away from your arrow's flight path."

Farbarad nodded. "It's a sound plan. If he's in the open then perhaps the best idea would be for me to take a potshot at him, but that would be harder to do if he saw us shooting at him, he'd duck or dodge or run for the closest clump of brush he could find. In that case, a better plan would be to ride around him, you shooting at him while I used my horse to blocke his attempts to get to cover or to rush you."

"Or I could simply charge him with spear lowered at the gallop. Obviously, the best scenario for us is to get him out in the open. No warrior, no matter how large or strong or skilled, would be fool enough to rush a man on horseback if he has no mount of his own, or no pike to catch the horseman's charge. We would have the advantage over him in almost every scenario if we can catch him away from cover."

Eofor paused and glanced over at Farbarad, eyebrows raised high. "But what is this of my riding around him, shooting him with a bow? You yourself have bragged to me of your skill at the bow. I would have thought you would want to have the honors of shooting him yourself."

"Yes, this is true, but I know little of shooting someone from horseback. Stop laughing, Eofor!" Farbarad tried his best to project an aura of anger, though he admitted it really was rather funny, and he almost laughed when the Eorling's laughter almost caused the man to fall off his horse. "You are the rudest companion I have ever had. Now I know why I prefer to travel alone."

Eofor wiped tears of laughter from his eyes and did his best to wipe his smile from his face. "Hehehe, don't be angry, I was just remembering that that was one of the first things I learned in my eored."

"Yes, well I was not brought up among a people who ride as much as yours do. You Eorlings do practically everyone on horseback, you eat, drink, fight, and travel on your horses, so of course you'd be a skilled horse-archer." Eofor opened his mouth to reply, but Farbarad cut him off. "Ah ah ah, we must get back to tracking this creature. We can argue later."

The two moved their horses into a quick walk, and rode on for hours, stopping only to confirm they were on the right trail and to change directions when the trail shifted. The tracks led off to the side of the Old East Road, a landmark the two reached after traveling perhaps ten miles, and they rode on beside the great road. The rest of the morning passed, then noon, and they rode on without stopping until the early evening for a short dinner of bottled beer, waybread, and dried meat.

Eofor sat in the grass by Eacen, chewing the hard beef and watching wagons and carts go rattling by on the dusty Old East Road. The travelers, mostly men but more than a few Hobbits, passed up and down the road, moving supplies from hamlets to the larger towns to sell, and every one of them greeted the now-storm-darkened sky and rumbles of thunder with curses as they urged their draft animals on. The change in weather bothered the Eorling, he'd had to be out in the rain often enough, but it didn't make it any less unpleasant, and he shifted in his seat, grumbling.

Farbarad, in contrast, was the very picture of languor. He treated both passersby and the weather with equal disinterest, and he leant back on his side in the leaves, one hand clutching a pipe he puffed away at, his eyes half-shut. The Dunedan's bottle of beer, taken from Eofor's supplies, lay beside him, half empty, and a chunk of dried beef lay on some leaves beside that. He would chip away at both from time to time while staring off at some point on the horizon.

"Farbarad?"

One corner of the Dunedan's mouth opened, expelling a cloud of smoke. He watched the smoke float through the air before pulling the pipe from his mouth and sitting up, turning a lazy eye towards his companion. "Mmm? Is something troubling you, Eofor?"

Eofor's eyes rose to the sky again, narrowing as a lightning flashed in the distance and the sound of thunder drew closer. This was an ill day for tracking, indeed.

"The weather's getting poor, and we've been lying here for a while. Shouldn't we be getting up and riding ahead? Perhaps we could find some shelter from the rain up the road a ways." Eofor rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Also, I'm far from a master tracker, but I do know that the rain will destroy the tracks if it's strong enough. We should press on now; there is the off-chance we can find this beast before we lose the trail."

Farbarad's brows furrowed he sky, and he rose with a curse, extinguishing his pipe and shoving it into the belt at his waist. He checked the trail again, then grasped beer and meat in one hand as he swung into Cardolan's saddle. "You make a good point, friend. Mount up, we've wasted enough time here."

Cardolan and Eacen stepped up the pace and their mood showed that their displeasure at the weather was even greater than their masters. The Dunedan and Eorling rode on for perhaps another five miles before the sky opened up on them, dropping a sheet of rain on man, horse, supplies and tracks. The heavy rain cleanly washed away the beast's footprints on open ground, and it fell so quickly and so heavily that it even got past the tree cover, obscuring the tracks there.

That much Farbarad assessed when he swung out of the saddle after some time of riding in the storm. His boots squelched in thick mud as he landed, and a litany of grumbling gave his companion some hint as to how serious the situation was.

The Dunedan stared down at the mud, trying his best to catch whatever hints of a trail were left, but it was all gone. '_Oh no! No, no, no, no, no, no! This is an ill twist, a very ill one. That beast could be going anywhere now, and if he is wise he'll change his course to keep us from stumbling across him._" He turned his head up to the rain and exhaled all his breath in one huge sigh. He had done all he could, and he failed, and that roiled bitterly in his stomach. Failure meant the chance that this Orc-creature would kill again, and this time it may take an innocent life.

"Can you see aught of the tracks?"

Farbarad turned back to Eofor, and the Eorling caught the sight of bared teeth under the other man's hood. "The tracks are gone. We're riding blind. This is a pretty mess to find oneself in, isn't it?"

"Pretty indeed." Eofor said shortly. "If we're riding blind we might as well not follow the trail at all, and we should probably look for some shelter. This rain is truly nasty, we can't start a campfire out in the open in this, and the wind will probably blow the rain into the tent. Normally I don't mind living out in the wild, but this sort of weather isn't fit for any man. Is there anywhere we could stay the night?"

Eofor's eyes rolled as the rain grew heavier than it had before, if that was possible, and a massive thunderclap drowned out Farbarad's reply. "What?"

"I said, "The Hawk and Hare's Foot" lies about ten miles up ahead of us along the road! If we get onto the Old East Road and stay there we cannot miss it, even in this downpour. It normally has some rooms for travelers. If we hurry, we can get there before those rooms are all gone." He clambered back up into the saddle and urged Cardolan back into a fast walk.

"The Hawk and Hare's Foot" was a tavern and wayside inn, one of those outposts supplied by small farming settlements scattered throughout Eriador. The inn was a decent one in size, though definitely seamy, and it had a reputation as a better tavern than it did an inn. Its interior was dingy and dim, with rough-hewn furniture, and the air was filled with the scent of beer, pipe-weed smoke, lantern oil, and stew stewing in pots in the kitchen. The travelers who had stopped in for the day were a motley lot, and far from numerous.

Most who had stopped traveling seemed to have done so at earlier posts at the first sign of bad weather, and a few brave souls had more than likely pushed on through the rain in hopes of getting to a better inn than this. The few men there crowded around tables, huddling close to the fire place for the warmth, and were all in a decidedly foul mood to match the rain.

The one man who didn't huddle about the fire, gulping wine or ale was the Man-Orc Eofor and Farbarad had been tracking since sunrise. Claideb was the son of no father worthy of the name, and was a brawler, a violent fighter who for whatever reason had developed an incredible hatred of Orcs and felt more at home amongst Men than any other folk, even though he hated them only somewhat less than he did the Orcs.

Living amongst full-blooded men required a concealment, stealth, and the ability to fool people as to his true nature. He quickly learned to pass himself off as a wandering scholar, an act made easy by the three books of lore in Westron that he carried about in his pack. His ability to pretend to be engrossed in a book, writing notes on scrap paper beside it, caused most folk to leave him to his studies.

Anyone who tried to start up any sort of conversation with him just got a long-winded speech on some historical event about when Eriador was still Arnor and that he had been invited to speak at the university of scholars and students in Dol Amroth. That was more than enough to cause most of the barflies' eyes to cross and for them to move on, and those who liked the stories and remained listening didn't ask too many probing questions.

Inconvenient as it was in eating, he still wore his heavy hood in the tavern, and sauce from his chicken and ham pie spotted the hood and his cloak. But that was of no consequence to Claideb. All that mattered now was a hot meal and a warm bed to stay overnight in, and the knowledge that his trick of doubling back on his trail had worked.

He had a feeling that the strange red-headed man and the Dunedan would take up his trail, his foolishness in roaring and howling when he attacked the bandits had ensured that. To prevent being found, he and his Warg had left an obvious trail to the Old East Road and about ten miles past "The Hawk and Hare's Foot", before breaking off his trail and moving as stealthily back to the inn as possible. Once there, he let the Warg wander off. It knew well how to stay out of sight, so he wasn't too worried about someone finding the big wolf.

All of this had been a lot of work, but it was infinitely worth it. The men would follow his trail for a while, lose it, and then spend hours casting about trying to re-track him. In the mean time, he would get a good night's sleep and would set off for the northern coast of Eriador in the morning. From there he would travel to and winter at his beach-side cabin and harbor.

Fork in hand, he tore back into his pie. It was a tasty one, flaky, well seasoned and rich, but he expected nothing less from the cook at "The Hawk and Hare's Foot". So far the tavern was staying at the top of the list of his favorite taverns in Eriador, with only a tavern in Gondor and another in rebuilt Dale rising above it in his overall estimation.

His pleasant meal was interrupted by the banging of the tavern door, and his temper soured as a voice that he recognized from last night rose clear over the din of the inn.

**AN:**

**Minifruitbat: **Yes, Eofor can read. I assume his family took the time to teach him it (a rare family, as the folk of the Riddermark didn't write many books, according to Tolkien). I assume they did it because they needed people to write reports to Edoras and other letters to smaller townships for other things. So yes, he can read, but he'd be one of the rarer readers among his people


	6. Rests and Words

Rest and Words

Disclaimer: I (rather obviously) do not own Lord of the Rings, that belongs to JRR Tolkien and the Tolkien Foundation.

**This will be a more talky chapter, with some more of the backstory for the characters given in the form of a solid conversation. I tried to keep this lively and not too expository. Hope y'all enjoy. If not, I'll see what I can do to fix it. **

"Hoi! Innkeeper! One room with two beds, if you have it, and two tankards of hot mulled wine." The half-breed's head shot up, and his eyes narrowed on the man standing before the innkeeper.

It was that cursed _tark _and the other man, Claideb assumed it was a man of Rohan but he was not entirely sure. And they'd stopped here for the night. This was an ill turn for him, and here he had hoped that the weather would help his plans. Instead, it had struck a hard blow against them. He couldn't help the irrational feeling that the weather had betrayed him.

His heartbeat quickened. He could pass notice, and elude a hunter, but he hated the feeling of being hunted. It made him feel so week. He licked dry lips and took a deep, slow breath.This wasn't ideal, but he could salvage it, all he had to do was to read and pretend to be lost to the outside world. And above all else, he had to avoid being noticed.

He polished off his pie and pulled his table's oil lantern closer to him. Out came the text on the history of Arnor and the rise of Angmar, and Claideb leant back in his seat, a eye on his book and an eye on the newcomers.

The innkeeper turned tired but friendly eyes on Fabarad and Eofor, and nodded. "Aye, we have a room with what you be wantin', but you must pay up front first." The Dunedain grumbled something and fished out some coins, placing them into the Innkeeper's hands.

The man glanced down, eyebrows rising for a moment. "Ah, generous you are, sir. As for your wine, well lads, this is the season for spiced wine, and the foul weather makes a good, hot drink an even better one, and ye're in luck, because "The Hawk and Hare's Foot" has the finest mulled wine of any tavern running along the Old East Road. Just step up to the bar and ask for some, and the barkeep will give you all you can drink, for a price .Would you want anything to eat? We give those staying the night a meal at half price, and we have a choice tonight of either our beef stew or the chicken and ham pie and chips."

Farbarad nodded, passing the man more of his coin. "Aye, I'll have the stew, make sure it's hot and the bread's fresh."

"That chicken and ham pie sounds tasty. It has been a while since I've had a good savory pie." Eofor shifted his weight to his other leg. "May we have the room key first, though? We must go to the room and change into the dry clothes."

"Of course, of course." The innkeeper passed them key with great "1" painted onto the block of wood it hung from. "We've pies in the oven now, and plenty of stew simmering away, so your food should be ready by the time you return. Your room is up those stairs and on your right as you come up the last step. You can give your clothes to the clothes mistress just off to the side of the kitchen when you are done. She'll dry them, mend them, and bring them back to you…ah, also for a price."

The two shouldered their packs and headed up the staircase to a narrow hallway. On the side of the hall closest to the stairwell there were four doors spaced some distance apart, evidently these were the double-bed rooms, and there was a fifth small room at the end of the hall. Seven more doors to small rooms lined the wall opposite the stairwell

Room number 1 was exactly where one would expect to find it, the first door on the right side of the hallway past the stairwell. Farbarad unlocked the door to their room and nodded shortly. "I see, I was indeed being generous for paying him so handsomely for this room."

Eofor crowded in behind him, taking in the conditions with a snort. The room was perhaps one and a half times the height of a man wide and a little deeper, with two narrow beds, a window, and two oil-filled lanterns, one on the windowsill and another on a small table on one corner of the room. There was no fireplace, and the blankets were far from the prettiest, but there were plenty of them for warmth, and that Eofor was grateful for.

"You've been spoiled by the "Blue Comb". These're perfectly fine little rooms, free of rats." He caught Farbarad's huff and smirked. "At least, at first glance they have no rats, but who knows what the night shall bring. And yes, they're cramped, but this is just for one night. Let's get out of these wet clothes and back downstairs for our meal."

That was no sooner said than done, and Eofor all but sighed in delight as he slipped into the dry shirt and trousers from the leather-wrapped sack in his pack. The wet clothing went straight to the "clothes mistress", a woman with long brown hair and fingers made almost unnaturally quick through years of sewing. Foul weather such as this didn't impair her work, as she could still wash in her dry little room, and she could hang any freshly washed clothing in front of a roaring fireplace to dry. She pulled some newly washed trousers of the line in front of the fireplace and turned to handle the two.

She took Farbarad's cloak, and held it out at arms length for a moment, looking askance at it. "This is a fine cloak, lad, it's a shame to see the rain and weather put such a toll on it. Oh, and look at this mud!" She tsked through her teeth.

"I'll be taking your boots too, they're muddy as well and could stand a good polishing. Ye'll be needing to wash your hands in the dog-trot under the eaves before ye come and eat. And ai, ai, what did you do to these trousers, red-head? There's a gash in these running from knee to foot."

"Ah, that would be the time an Orc scimitar got my leg in a scrap, it's as ill as you say, they are still good trousers despite the gash. Yet I'm sure you will want to sew them up anyway." Eofor passed the woman a few small silver coins and some coppers. "Will this do?"

She looked down into her palm and nodded. "Yes, thank ye kindly, Eorling." She looked up at the two men. "For the love of all that's good, you're standing around keeping me from my work, and I'm sure your dinner and drinks are waiting ye in the tavern. You'd best move along."

"Aye, that we will. Our thanks to you, my lady. We'll see you tomorrow." Farbarad gave the woman a curt bow and ushered Eofor ahead of him to the bar. There, sitting on the top of the bar was a small, hot chicken and ham pie and a plate of chips sitting beside a wooden disk with the number 1 painted on it; moments later, the barkeep put two mugs of mulled wine, a fork and a spoon, and a bowl of steaming beef stew beside the pie.

The tavern was more crowded now; a caravan of five merchants and two cloaked men, guards no doubt, had checked in while the Eorling and Dunedan were upstairs. The newcomers' presence made finding a table in the room a more difficult. After a few moments of furtive looking, Eofor pointed out a free table, and the two were in business.

Farbarad paid for the wine, and in advance for another mug or two for the two of them, and then followed the shorter man to the free table in the corner of the room. Eofor set the food down on the table and took his seat and a fork, and set-to his meal, sipping at the wine from time to time and wolfing the pie down.

The Dunedan quietly broke a piece of bread off his loaf, sopped it into the stew, and ate the stew-sopped bread bit by bit until he had polished off the half-loaf. When the bread was all gone, he finished what was left of the stew with a spoon, his motions almost fussy for a road hardened man like himself. He even spared a few disapproving looks at Eofor's manners.

"Friend Eofor, forgive me if I sound rude, but were you foaled in a barn with your family's horses?"

The Eorling wiped some sauce off his beard and laughed. "Yes I was, actually. My mother foolishly went out to the barn to bring my father a mug of ale, and father said she went into labor right after giving him the mug. Some time later, I and my twin brother entered the world, wailing and crying and no doubt frightening poor Eacen's sire."

Farbarad chuckled shortly, and gave his head a shake. "Ai, and I'm afraid I gave you the opportunity for that one. You told me of much of Rohan, but not where you were born. Where are you from in Rohan? Eastfold? Westfold? The land around Edoras?"

"My father's farm wasn't far from the Gap of Rohan, and that's good, solid country, although a bit close to Dunland and its folk. The farm was placed close to a small creek in that area, and we diverted some of its flow into a pond to water our stock. The pond would freeze in the winter, so father would take my brothers and I skating, and we would come back half-frozen and ready for hot milk and a good meal. Those were good days."

Eofor paused, staring squint-eyed at the spoon in the Dunedan's hands. "Since your brought up manners I have to say that you've a courtliness in your eating that I wouldn't have expected from a mere wanderer. Were you born in the house of some lord of your people?"

"No, while more than a few of the surviving Dunedain are of noble blood, my father, Farlung, was not. Through virtue of his skill he rose to be a High Captain, with eleven rangers under him. He had the respect of his men, and he always cultivated a certain image around them. He always ate quietly, neatly, never drank to drunkenness, and he was the match of any in his command with a sword. I was born in late winter, in my father's house in my people's settlement near Imladris." He paused to finish off the very last spoonful or two of stew, and leant back in his chair, mug of wine in hand, when that was done.

"Father said that that winter was one of the coldest in Eriador, that was how he remembered my birthtime, that and that I almost killed my mother in birth. Fortunately for both of us she was a sturdy woman, and she survived to manage her four young ones. Any house among the Dunedan with more than one or two children is counted especially blessed, and four children made our household the envy of our neighbors. Father was commonly gone out on patrols with his men, and we children spent most of our time playing, wrestling, and exploring life in the wide world."

Eofor's ears perked at that. "That sounds like what my brothers and youngest sister did. We'd spend hours outside, running about, tossing mud-balls from the dirt near the pond, or racing each other all over hill, plain and wood. But I interrupted you. Please, continue."

"Thank you. Well, when Haduil, Mabhod and I grew older, we spent most of our time learning swordplay and archery from the older rangers still at the settlement. And like all young men we competed to see who was the greatest warrior. Haduil was the eldest of us, and a natural swordsman like father. I was, even then, the best archer in my family, and Mabhod was a natural at both, almost a match for Haduil with a brand and almost as good as I was with the bow. It was truly amazing to see him on a field against the beasts of Sauron, at home with his weapons and claiming Orc after Orc.

Farbarad's eyes lit up a little. He had dearly loved his brother, and he had had so few to talk too about him that the chance Eofor presented was too good to resist. "Even at his young age, he had such potential as a warrior that the older rangers spoke of his replacing his father as captain as if it were just a matter of time. And he had a way with the men that was his much very own. He was friendly, open, respectful to his commanders and a great joker amongst his peers. The elder rangers loved him, and the younger ones looked up to him as a hero."

His face suddenly clouded, and his jaw clenched for a moment. "It makes no sense that such a man should've passed while Haduil and I lived." He took a big gulp from his mug of now just-warm wine and sat silent.

Eofor raised his mug for a refill of mulled wine and quietly twiddled his thumbs for a moment, not really sure what he should say "Hmm. Then I'm doubly sorry for your loss, Farbarad. I would've liked to meet your brother. In some ways what you told me about him sounded a fair bit like my twin brother, Etheod, named for my father.

He leant back, steepling his hands. "My twin was and is a true master warrior. Now, I still beat him on archery from horseback, and I can out-wrestle him any day of the week, but his skill with mace, spear, and sword was and is impressive, and he had a command of his horse that all of us strove to attain. Yet he was a very sober, very grim man, no doubt more like your father and brother Haduil than Mabhod."

Eofor passed a few coppers to the serving maid who refreshed his mug from a hot pitcher, and he stared down into the wine for a moment, watching the steam spiral up from it. "Mother… mother was murdered by Dunlending raiders one night while we were out training for the eored, and out of the nine of we children he'd had the strongest bond with her. Her death broke his heart, and he, never quick to smile or laugh to begin with, smiled even less."

"Where's your brother now?" Farbarad's eyes were back on the Eorling, a little less cloudy, a little clearer, and very interested in the other man's tale. "You speak of him as if he was still alive, unlike Mabhod. Is he still with your old _eored_?"

"Not only is he still with the _eored_, he commands it!" The Eorling's own eyes were full of pride, and he tapped a hand against the table. "He avenged our mother when he slew one of Dunland's most famous raiders and warriors, Wynulf of Dunland, in single combat. That was a fight I would've dearly loved to see, but I was fighting for my own life after one of that cursed Wynulf's fellow raiders shot me with an arrow.

He wet his tongue with another sip of wine and continued, his eyes dancing. "After the fight, my brother grabbed me, set me on his horse in front of him, and galloped off the field, Dunlending arrows whining all around him. His eored still operates in the borders of our lands, keeping the Dunlendings out as much as possible. I heard tell that his name is a byword among them."

"You're very proud of him, then, and it sounds like he held a great deal of affection for you, being willing to risk his neck like that to bring you to safety." Farbarad polished off his wine with a smile and raised his own mug for a fresh drink. "What made you leave your brother and _eored_?"

Eofor's face fell, and he grimly poked one of his uneaten chips about on his platter. "That's a tale for another eve, if you don't mind. The story is a dark one, one I'd rather not tell after such a merry conversation."

Farbarad cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing, watching the chip as it flowed across the tin plate, sliding through a lake of malt vinegar, and then he struck, two lithe fingers moving in a blur to seized the chip from the plate. He popped in into his mouth and chewed.

"I understand. I'll not press you on the matter, for now. But I want an answer some time. Dishonest as I am, I will not travel with a disgraced or exiled warrior." The big man swallowed the chip with a grimace, and shook his head. "Ai, there is nothing worse than a cold chip."

The Eorling's eyes narrowed, and he leant forward, slapping the table hard with one hand. "I was not banished! I'm no coward, you should know that from last night and I'm no traitor. I served my captain, and my lord, and my king well in my time."

He understood Farbarad's concern, a traitor would have no qualms about betraying again, but still the Dunedan's words stung. He was of the Rohirrim, proud, sturdy knights who sang going into battle, and even the slightest thought that he may have dishonored his comrades burned like a hot brand against his skin.

Farbarad, for his part, had leant back in his chair at the start of the outburst, eyebrows rising to the top of his forehead. All he had asked was a simple question about his companion's background, and he had been denied that, was it any wonder that he should be suspicious? Eofor had no right to react so fiercely to another simple question, even if it called into question his honor.

And yet…Eofor had acted as a honorable man in the time Farbarad had traveled with him, and the Dunedan could understand why the Eorling was so offended at what he would see as a slight to his honor. He was even willing to admit that he had, perhaps, been too harsh in asking the question, too blunt, and maybe that was what had offended Eofor. He stared grimly at the former Rohir for a long moment, two moments, three, before finally sticking a hand out to the man.

"I had my reasons for asking that question, Eofor, but I'm sorry if I offended you. That I had no attention of doing, and perhaps I don't always think when I speak. You're a man of honor, at least, that is what I've seen of you so far, and I'll trust you until you give me cause to doubt you. Your story can remain yours until you choose to tell it to me."

Eofor took Farbarad's hand and gave it a good shake. "Apology accepted, let's not dwell on this. And I thank you for granting me the privacy you do. I will tell you the tale another day." His ears pricked suddenly, and he turned to see a cloaked and hooded figure enter the tavern and speak with the innkeeper.

The form, of what he could see of it, was that of a tall, lean woman, and she leant against a long, finely worked glaive. This was no usual traveler, and he coughed t his comrade's attention, and jerked his own head in her direction.

The Dunedan turned, looking sharply at the newcomer. "Nnn. Haduil asked us to keep an eye out for the _elleth_ and that could well be her. Go speak to her."

Eofor blinked at that, too taken aback for words, really. "Me? You're a Dunedan, you're in a far better position to handle Elves. I've no experience with them whatsoever, and I'm not sure I want to have any, if they're at all like the wild sorceress of the wood near my country."

The Dunedan opened his mouth to say something, but his jaw full out dropped and his eyes flicked to a point behind the Eorling's shoulder. Then there was a voice, it was soft, and in some places almost musical, but with an undercurrent of steel that made its owner's feelings crystal clear. There was also an element in that it that Eofor had not heard in the voice of any other women he'd met.

"Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien wouldn't like to hear that you and others of Rohan call her a "wild sorceress", and her people wouldn't treat you kindly for speaking of her so. For myself, I'm not too fond of hearing ill spoken of so great a lady, though I am in Lord Elrond's service and not hers."


	7. Interlude 2: An Onerous Task

Interludes of Eriador: An Onerous Task

Disclaimer: I do not, rather obviously, own Lord of the Rings. This belongs to JRR Tolkien and the Tolkien Foundation. I am just borrowing his settings, some characters, etc, to have a little fun, but I fully acknowledge the true owner of these lovely toys.

**Timewise, this is set around Wilds of Eriador Chapter 5, just before Dinennaur enters "The Hawk and Hare's Foot'"**

Dinennaur of Imladris, daughter of Tologtirith and Caranmirwen was rarely been one to keep quiet when something annoyed her, and there was much to annoy her about this trip. The weather in Eriador was always foul around this time of year and the cold and damp hung heavy in the air. The heavy clouds above her head threatened, always threatened, to dump a lake of water down onto the land. The only sound she heard consistently was the monotonous, never-ending clock-clap-clock-clap of Lagorceleb's newly shod hooves hitting the Old East Road. And to top off a long litany of complaints, there was the task she'd be fool enough to volunteer for.

She glanced back up at the sky as a rumble rose high, and cursed her sense of duty. Or was it really duty? She thought back to the day, several weeks back, when everything started going downhill.

It'd been a fair enough day, one of the better ones for a late fall or early winter in Eriador, and one of her messmates had been kind enough to take her patrol for her, letting her ride back into Imladris to visit her family. Her mother took one look at her boots and scolded her for not bothering to take them off before coming into the house, and all but thrust a mop her direction.

The memory brought a soft laugh to her lips. She'd seen three and a half thousand winters come and go, and her mother still had the power to make her feel like a gangly youth again. It would be lunchtime soon, and her younger brother and father would soon be in, clamoring for the meat pies baking away in the oven.

Lunchtime came, and with it the two men of the family. To her shock, her brother came in a regal mess. His black hair was matted and dirty, his clothes tattered, his face bruised, one hand was clapped to his side, and his gray eyes were blazing with shame and rage. Their father turned and raised sandy eyebrows high.

"Did you get into a fist fight with one of the other swordsmen, again? I really have no idea where you get your temper from."

"_Meldemel!_ Have you forgotten that you used to be called Beregdrambor in your younger days? Here, Coerheledir, take this," She tossed him a towl soaked in cold water, which the young man pressed to the side of his face.. "Which one was it this time? Glamrist? Lagorang?"

Coerheledir shook his head, and his eyes sparked angrily when he glanced back at his sister. "Morangmacar. Your little pet caught me when I was out on a walk outside Imladris. You really should keep your leash on him tighter, _muinthel_."

Dinennaur compressed her lips, a flicker starting in her own eyes. "Aye, _muindor,_ perhaps I should've, if I ever had a leash on him to start with. The brute has refused to wear anyone's collar, and it makes little sense for you to talk of me fitting one around his neck when I'd be better off fixing a chain or noose there."

Brother and sister scowled at each other, and finally Coerheledir dropped his gaze. "I suppose that wasn't fair of me, was it?" He glanced back up , smiling wryly. "Treasure that apology, because you won't get that from me often, elder sister. It's a little brother's right to needle their siblings."

Dinennaur relaxed and actually giggled, an odd sound coming from one of the few female soldiers in Imladris. "Aye, that it is. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been so harsh. I'd hoped the brute had had enough of us all, and now that he attacked you…" Her voice trailed off as her brother set a piece of paper on the table.

"Your pet asked me to give you this after half splitting my skull. You may want to take it to Lord Elrond before lunch if we're to have a chance of catching this thing."

She unfolded the paper with shaking hands. That he could write was a surprise in and of itself, but his script was positively atrocious and barely on the right side of legible.

The letter read: "_Elf with the odd name. How can a flame be silent anyway?"_ She regretted ever telling him what her name meant, but it was in the middle of a fight, and he'd surprised her by asking.

"_It has been a while, a least as Men count time. I know you were fretting over me these last seven years, and wanted to lighten your load somewhat. I am heading west, you'll need to know that if you want to avenge you and yours' honor. I hope you've gotten better over the last few years. _

_Yours in Battle, _

_Morangmacar. _

_P.S. Is that little one really your brother? He is not as formidable as I expected him to be, seeing as how he's your brother and all. I expected more of a fight."_

She crumpled the paper in her hand. "Mother, wrap my part of the pie if you will. I have to speak with our lord."

Her mother sighed. "You're off after him again? You are aware that your father's birthday is in three days. I'd hoped you'd stay and celebrate it with the family. You did promise to help me get things ready, you know."

Dinennaur wrapped her arms around her own body and looked guiltly away from her mother. She had promised, and that she was breaking that promise made her feel more than a little miserable. "I am sorry, _naneth_. I am truly sorry, but I have to track him down and end him."

Coerheledir's dander rose again. He had really hoped to spend some time with his sister on their father's birthday, and here she was dashing his hopes, and not for the first time either! "That's the excuse you used last time, _muinthel_. There are a number of other warriors who share your sense of duty. I fail to understand why they cannot go after him, unless you did something as foolhardy swearing an oath to Lord Elrond to fell this brute."

Tologtirith raised his hand. "Enough, Coerheledir. Dinennaur, you have a long history with this creature, and I understand why you want to be the one to deal with him him . You're free to go after him, but we will have a little talk about your promises to your family. I know you mean well, but you make and break what word you give us too glibly. You should take into account our feelings as well as the needs of Imladris."

Dinennaur bowed her head. "I understand, _ada_. I will try to do as you say."

Tologotirith's weather features softened. "I know you will. Now go, take care of this matter, and take care of yourself while you're out there. I want you to be alive when I remonstrate with you over your promise-breaking. Oh, and if you can get another warrior to go with you on this quest, so much better. It will double your chances of ending this problem, once and for all."

Dinennaur's lips twitched, and then she was out the door and running down the road to the House of Elrond proper. The young Lord Elladan (Was that right, or was he her lord Elrohir? They looked so similar) let her know that Lord Elrond was in council with some very important folk, and that any business regarding Morangmacar would have to wait until he finished more vital matters. She sat about in a room for more time than she'd have liked and then both the _aran's _sons ushered her into her Lord's council room, and took chairs flanking their father.

"Morangmacar has returned?" Elrond sighed heavily and rubbed at his forehead. "Couldn't he have given us seven hundred years instead of seven? Even seventy would be a better respite from this beast's plaguing us. I have my own counsel regarding the beast, but I would like to hear what you three would suggest before making a decision."

The Elves sat quietly, thinking. The Morangmacar had been a thorn in Rivendell's side for over a hundred years now. He tended to pounce on Noldorin warriors,mostly the young ones, who strayed too far from their settlement or campfires. He would fight them sword to sword, disarm them and then run off into Eriador. It was a process that occured at least once a fortnight. .

Elrond supposed he should be grateful that no one had been killed yet, but beast was an utter annoyance and his actions disrupted the peace of the sanctuary. This was a headache he did not need. He had to worry about many things, many vital things at that, and, compared to these, Morangmacar was nothing more than an annoyance. It wasn't that he ignored the potential threat, (and no one would dare imply that Elrond had done _that)_ but Morangmacar's antics hadn't killed anyone, and he hadn't tried to attack Rivendell directly. Still, Imladris wasn't the brute's playground. The _aran_ would be quite happy in the _perorch_ could be killed or persuaded to find greener pastures.

Elladan shifted in his seat. "We can't do it. Elrohir and I have business further north with the Rangers on the border of what used to be Angmar. There are a few fell things left there, and the Dunedain and their Hillman levies might want a pair of good swords." Elrohir said nothing, and really did nothing other than sit and sip his cooled tea, sweetened with honey.

"Yes, I remember you telling me about this earlier. I won't forbid you going, but I'm sorry you cannot take up this hunt yourselves." Elrond stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Now, we do the resident expert on the Morangmacar here before us. What does she say?"

Dinennaur jolted in her seat. "I…well, that is…I." She quietly cursed her lack of anything remotely resembling skill at public speaking. "I think I…I should go after him, my lords. He and I have…ah…fought each other many times, and each time, he's bested me, and I want to…to correct that little dishonor."

She coughed. "I have a dozen scars on my body from his…his…sword, and…ah…with those a handle on how he fights, and…ah…even how he may think, though delving into that dark pit of a mind is…is…something I try not to do. On top of everything else, he attacked my brother, shaming him and our house." She shut her eyes and forced herself to speak clearly. "If you'd send another warrior with me, or better still several warrriors, then I'm sure I could pull this thorn in our feet to everyone's satisfaction."

Elrohir stopped sipping his tea and leant forward. "I am glad you volunteered, Dinennaur, but I'm afraid we can't spare another warrior. Most of our men are still keeping an eye on the Orcs rebuilding their forces in the mountains, and those who aren't doing that are watching Imladris or the Troll-fells. We cannot spare any men to help you, not even those from Lagormacar's command."

Dinennaur's jaw dropped and she spun to her lord. "My Lord Elrond?"

Elrond shook his head, frustration evident in his eyes. "Elrohir is right. I am sorry, but you'll have to go alone. This will be a difficult task, but you will be well-rewarded when you complete it. Speaking of rewards... Elladan, get some Gondorian _celebbarad_ from our treasury, Dinennaur will need them for the trip."

And that was that. She got her pie from her parents, bid them a fond farewell, kissed her little brother on the cheek, and solemnly promised Coerheledir that Morangmacar's death would be an unpleasant one. She left Imladris that evening.

Thas was almost over two weeks ago. Now she was toodling along the Old East Road, under a gray sky on an errand she stood a fair chance of not coming back from. She half-wondered why the Valar had afflicted her with this pest of a half-Orc, but that musing was interrupted by the downpour that finally broke, soaking Dinennaur and the country.

She saw the light and smoke from an inn about a league or so ahead, and urged ==============================================================

**Okay, long AN this time: lot of stuff here, some will be slightly rec-covered in chapter 6 of The Wilds of Eriador. I did my best to get across that this Elf is no Mary Sue, nor is she an expression of the author as a person. She's a little off-beat character I thought up when I was thinking of other companions and characters. **

**Some of her physical description is in chapter 6, but I can tell you that she's feminine, pretty without being really beautiful, and her build is closely approximate to the teutonic "helga". She is tall, and generally well-proportioned and built, and leanly muscled. No twig this one. **

**As for Elrond, I always liked his character. In this story, I imagine he's very tied up as a part of the White Council and otherwise trying to keep Sauron in check, and a lot of the other problems that come with being an Elven lord combine to give him a headache a lot of the time. **

**As for the elvish, Meldemel should be Sindarin for "dear heart" (Meld=dear, I believe. Emel=heart.) I really wish someone would help me out and make sure I ain't butchering Sindarin the way I does English. I am using Sindarin because it seems to be the common language for most Elves, with Quenya being more formal. **

**Beregdrambor=Wild/Savage Fist (I do believe)**

**Muinthel: sister**

**Muindor: brother **

**Caranmirwen: I think this is the feminine of Caranmir, which is red jewel or gem.**

**Tologtirith: faithful or sturdy guard. **

**Morangmacar: dark iron swordsman. I think the Elves would give him some sort of name of their own. They don't know his, after all. A modern day reference would be people naming a man-eating crocodile in Africa 'Gustave'.**

**8-4-2009: I had to edit this to put it better in line with the rest of the storyline. **


	8. Meeting the Elf

**Dinennaur **

**Disclaimer: Never have owned, don't own, and never will own LOTR, which is owned, in perpetuity, by JRR Tolkien and the Tolkien Foundation. **

Eofor spun in his seat to see the woman, the _elleth_ as Farbarad call her, standing behind him, still hooded. She was all the more foreboding now that he knew truly what she was. "I…I…I did not mean any o…" His voice trailed off as his companion came to the rescue.

"Forgive us, my lady. My friend spoke out of ignorance, and he meant no real offense to the Lady of the Golden Wood or to your people." Eofor glared at him, but the Dunedan shot the glare right back and kicked him under the table. "I'm Farbarad, son of Farlung, once a Ranger, and a man charged by his brother Haduil to keep watch for you on my travels to Rhovanion. I'm glad to have found you."

Eofor leant down to rub his shin while raising his head to look at the Elf. "And I am Eofor, son of Etheod. I'm sorry to have spoken as I did." He straightened, rising to his feet to give the newcomer a short bow. "Perhaps I truly did speak in ignorance, and perhaps I can learn better of your people."

"Apology accepted," The Elf suddenly grasped the Eorling's hand and shook it up and down. "I am Dinennaur, daughter of Tologtirith of Imladris, and I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. I She turned back to at Farbarad. "I trust you would have nothing against my sharing a table with you."

"None at all, come, sit." He watched as the _elleth _leant her glaive against the wall by him and sat down at the table's one empty place. "We were fortunate to run into you here, lady Dinennaur. Haduil would have been even less pleased with me than he normally is if I'd let you slip by. He asked me to give you what help I can, and that I am glad to do. I have many questions, but first, have you eaten anything yet?"

She shook her head. "No, I haven't. I should get some stew before we…"

"Don't bother., I will get you some stew and an ale, if you would like." Eofor rose from his seat. "At any rate, I must needs go to the bar anyway. The serving maids are too busy to refill my tankard."

The _elleth_ half rose, but the Eorling was already weaving his way through the tables. She sank back down, her face hidden by the hood but the unladylike snort she made give a good measure of her feelings.

"Well now…" She sat, watching the Eorling for a moment before turning back to Farbarad. "I could sense our prey when I entered the room; however, I'm not sure where he is, and he's more than likely disguised himself to slip by unwary eyes. I would feel safer talking with you and Eofor in your room after dinner."

"Very well." Eofor came back with a plate of stew, a mug of beer, and another of mulled wine a moment later. The three sat quietly together, sometimes watching the lightning flash through the windows. This storm was a terrific one, and it gave every sign that it would last through the night.

Dinennaur finished her stew and rose. "I must go change out of these wet clothes. What room are you two staying in?"

Farbarad glanced back and forth and then leant forward, dropping his voice to a whisper. "It's on the floor right above this one. Go to the first room on your right as you ascend the stairs." She nodded, took up glaive and pack and left the barroom.

Eofor blinked at the Dunedan, more than a little confused and not liking it one bit. "Why're you whispering? Did I miss something while I was getting the Elf her food?"

"Yes, I'm afraid you did. The creature we are tracking is in "The Hawk and Hare's Foot". Exactly where even Dinennaur cannot quite tell and her people are skilled in sensing the beasts of the Enemy."

"What?" The Eorling's voice dropped down to a strained whisper as well. "What makes her think he will stay here? This beast probably knows we are here, and everything inside him will be screaming for him to either run or fight, and it would make more sense for it to run."

"Aye, that's true, but he also knows that leaving in the middle of the night will awaken our suspicions." Farbarad raised a hand to still any complaint from his companion. "Yes, I know, I was wrong about him the last time, but this is the last time I will underestimate this creature. He is no fool, he knows that underplaying his hand is the best chance of surviving now, and running is out of the question for him."

"But that doesn't preclude him trying to sneak into our rooms and murder us. We will need to take turns taking watch. Should we post a guard outside Dinennaur's room?"

"We could ask her, there's no harm in that. Come, let's head back upstairs to the room for now."

The walk back to the room was a tense one, with the two casting uneasy glances around themselves as they headed to and up the stairs. Once they reached their floor, Farbarad practically darted to the room, key out , while his companion covered his back. Once inside, the weapons came out again. The spears rested against a nearby wall, a pair of daggers on the table. Farbarad rested his axe in his lap as he sank into the low chair, and Eofor leant against the wall, swords in hand.

A knock on the door a few minutes later brought both Farbarad's head up from his book, and he rose, crossing the tiny room to open the door with one hand, fully ready to dart off to the side and let Eofor take on the visitor if it should be their prey.

The door swung open to reveal cloaked and hooded form of the Elf standing quietly before it, glaive in hands. "_Mae govannen_, friends." She took in the steel gathered about the room, and her voice lightened. "My word, you seem ready to fight at Dagorlad on your own with all this."

Farbarad laughed and stepped back to let Dinennaur in. She was tall, for an _elleth_, and she could look Eofor square in the eyes. That and her long glaive were even more comforting to a tired Dunedan. At the very least she could perhaps hold the creature at bay long enough for a thrown weapon to end its miserable life.

She pulled her hood back, revealing a face that was pretty, but not breathtakingly so compared to some of the Noldorin women that Farbarad had seen in Imladris the few times he'd had a chance to visit it. If he had to make a judgement on her compared to other Elves, he'd rate her perhaps two steps above plain. There was a broad scar running across her forehead, and her brown hair was pulled back into an austere bun. She green eyes that seemed to constantly flit from side to side, scanning the room.

Eofor stepped forward, a strange grin on his face. "I have never…." He paused, giving his head curt shake and broadening his grin. "You look much like my sister, well, not the hair color as much as the eyes and the clothing you wear, and her hair was thick like yours."

"If I had known Elves looked like that I would not have been so suspicious." He felt the Elf's and Dunedan's equally incredulous stares fixed on him. "Perhaps that shouldn't have been said for a while yet."

Farbarad sat down on one of the beds and gestured for the red-head to join him. "Perhaps so, Eofor. But maybe my ability to not think before I speak is rubbing off on you. After a few months of this, you'll be like me, drinking folk under the table and cheating at cards."

He caught Dinennaur's look and coughed. "Ahem, we will move along from here. What, exactly, is this creature you're tracking? He wears hobnail boots, but his stride is too straight for an Orc and too long for any Orc I've seen, yet he roars and howls like a large Orc when in battle."

"It's an evil thing to think of, but he is a half-breed, a Man-Orc. He's very tall, taller than most Dunedan I have seen, and he is as strong as a yoke of oxen. We of Rivendell call him the Morangmacar, the dark-iron swordsman."

"A half-Orc?" Eofor's face showed his disgust. "We know what Orcs do to the woman of my people that they catch, but they've never let the poor girls live once the beasts are through with them. The offspring of such a…I won't call it a union, perhaps assault would be better, but at any rate the offspring of such an event would be an ugly thing to imagine."

Dinennaur nodded. "Aye, it is a wretched thing, and this one's speed and strength make him a danger to the people in this land. He came to the attention of Rivendell because he attacks young Noldorin, commonly the men training for battle. He never kills them, to our knowledge, which is odd. Instead, he almost spars with them, attacking, parrying, blocking, and counterattacking before he tires of the game and knocks them to the ground with the flat of his two-handed sword. He's even beaten some of our older, more skilled fighters, but he prefers battling the young and inexperienced. Most of those have more than a few bruises from the flat of his greatsword."

"He's a bully, then." Farbarad's eyes burned slightly. He had very few convictions and little sense of duty, but he did have a deep love for Elves, especially the Noldorin. The Elves of Rivendell had fought alongside him before in the past and they'd saved his life one or two times.

The Dunedan gave his head a disgusted shake. "He takes pleasure in using all that strength to torment those weaker than them, a very Orcish thing to be sure, but for one to shame one of the noble Noldor is an ill thing."

Dinennaur nodded. "Aye, most of us believe he is nothing but a bully, but his behavior sometimes doesn't even match that, as I can attest."

"My mother and father had no sons until about two thousand years ago, so Lord Elrond granted my father permission to train me as a warrior. The point of that was of course to let my house contribute to the defense of our people. This was and is perhaps an unusual grant, but I've fought well in my time."

She glanced out the window at the storm for a moment before speaking again. "I served, for instance, in Glorfindel's host in the battle against the armies of the Witch-King at Fornost and some other small battles. All that would be irrelevant to this discussion but for the fact that that I've fought the Morangmacar. The creature has taken a special interest in hunting and fighting me, even though I don't fit the mold of his usual prey."

Eofor glanced up from polishing his Dunedan-make sword. "Now that is strange. You're evidently a tougher nut to crack than the young ones and yet he seeks you out. Why? If I were such a creature as this I would know that you would kill me the first opportunity you got, and that you're skilled enough that such opportunities would be a regular thing. What he's doing is altogether too risky."

"Novelty." Noldor and Eorling turned to face Farbarad. "Dinennaur here is a woman, one of very few (and perhaps the only) regular women soldiers in Rivendell, and she is something this half-breed has probably never seen before. That she is skilled fuels the desire to fight her because it is riskier, more exciting, and perhaps because he wants to push her to her breaking point." He grimaced, disgusted, as a new thought sprang to mind. "Perhaps he seeks you out because you are the closest thing to female companionship that he can find."

Dinennaur nodded "I think you hit the nail on the head with the novelty issue. He and I've fought many a time and in all those fights, I felt that his heart wasn't fully in it. He always tried to avoid being killed, and he took me as a serious enough threat, but he held back from striking to kill."

She shuddered suddenly and then blazing eyes turned on the Dunedan. "Your second thought is truly disgusting, but if Morangmacar has fought me for some twisted physical pleasure then I will give him pain to outweigh any pleasure gained. ."

"And pain he shall have." Eofor put in. "But we've another pressing matter. Farbarad tells me this beast is in the tavern, but that he won't run away tonight; I say he may try to kill us if he doesn't run. What do you think we should do?"

Farbarad shifted in his seat. "I mayn't be the Elf, but I do have another point to make on this matter. We cannot go from door to door knocking on them and trying to find this beast. We would frighten the guests, and there is a chance some of them would be killed if it came to a fight between us and it. The beast would be far more interested in slaying folk it knew it had little chance of escape."

Dinennaur rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "That much is true. Going through the inn is a good way to go someone killed who doesn't need killing. Morangmacar probably wouldn't be fool enough to try to kill us while we slept, Elves are light sleepers, and I would wake the instant he tried to break the door down, and there are two of you, making a break-in all the less likely."

The Eorling grunted. "Aye, but these beasts are not exactly predictable, and even the most cunning Orc can show ill judgment. The best course of action would be to have one of us sleep, another keep watch in the room, and another walk the hallway, listening for any sign that someone is trying to escape their room."

At that Farbarad looked up at the ceiling with a heavy sigh and slapped his hands on his knees . "I know you think that unlikely, but I'd feel better if we did it. I'm willing to take the first watch if necessary."

"I must needs side with Eofor on this. I still don't feel the half-breed will do something this foolish but it never hurts to be careful. I'll walk the hall first and make sure he doesn't try anything stupid, then you will get the hall duty, and then Eofor. None of us will get much sleep, but at least what we get will be peaceful."

Farbarad nodded. "One more thing. Haduil asked me to render what aid I could to you. I and my companion are heading into Rhovanion, and I believe we'd be willing to aid you in your quest as long as you're going our way."

"Morangmacar's trail does indicate that he's headed back east. I would be glad of any assistance you could give me. My people, rightly, see the beast as primarily my concern because I unwittingly drew him towards Imladris and don't rate him as a great enough threat to send more folk after."

Farbarad dipped his head. "Then we'll set out east on the Old East Road on this thing's trail as soon as we have some light to track. Good night, madam."

Dinennaur rose and put her cloak and hood back on before taking glaive in hand and heading out of the room. Farbarad shot Eofor a tired frown and muttered. "Watches indeed."

That business handled, he curled up on the bed opposite the Rohir, pulling the blanket over his own head.

The broadly-built Eorling rose to extinguish the lantern in the window, and then sat down at the table. He put the daggers on it on his lap, laid his swords across the rough-hewn wood surface, and leant back as much as he could in the uncomfortable chair.

"Sleep now," he muttered, "I'll wake you when your watch comes. I'll even take an hour of your watch if you want."

Farbarad muttered something incomprehensible and slid off into the dark of sleep, safely wrapped in his blanket for the trip to the land of dreams.

**AN: Edited 8/10.2009 for a number of error corrections. **

Okay, in case I haven't mentioned it before, I see Eofor as around his late 20s, perhaps 28 at the latest, and he's a skilled campaigner for his age. (He's from an Eored near the gap, which is close to Dunland, so you could expect plenty of trouble from the Dunlendings in that area, as well as trouble from Orcs from the Misty Mountains on either side of the gap.)

So it'd make sense for him to be able to bear a longer watch than even a Dunedan, simply because the Eorling has trained for such things and Farbarad really hasn't.

Even if Farb' had, I'd think that being a lazy scoundrel would impair whatever natural or learned hardiness he has.

Dinennaur's being able to sense Orcs isn't too far in left field. Legolas seemed able to know they were there before the others did in the FOTR novel, and Elvish weapons glow when Sauron's creatures are near. Both these things indicate that Elves seem to have some sort of Orc-dar or something.


	9. The Finding Out of the ManOrc

Of the Finding out of the Man-Orc .

Disclaimer: I (rather obviously) do not own Lord of the Rings, that belongs to JRR Tolkien and the Tolkien Foundation.

The rooster's crowing told the folk in the tavern it was morning, though the heavy clouds outside blocked most of the light. The bird's cry woke Dinennaur, whose eyes snapped out of their trance-like state and into focus. She slept in her clothes, so dressing was a simple matter of getting out of bed and putting cloak and hood back on. She was soon round and about, pacing the room and rolling and gathering equipment up for packing.

Farbarad had held the last watch in the room proper, and but he had dozed off at the last bit of it. The sudden activity in the room jolted him wide awake, and he almost fell off the chair he'd been sleeping in.

"You're awake, then? The Dunedan quickly dropped a hand to the floor to keep from falling, and shook his head to clear it. The tall man slowly unfolded himself from the chair, and turned bloodshot eyes to the _elleth._ "Eofor is outside keeping an eye on the hallway. You and he will probably be better rested than myself…

"Even with your sleeping at the watch?" Dinennaur cocked an eyebrow. "I see. No matter, we'll make sure you don't fall off your horse."

Farbarad snorted, but any retort he planned to make died in a yawn, and he wiped tiredly at his eyes. "I was only asleep for an hour as the sand in that glass runs, _elleth_. Take care that you…"

A rap on the door cut him off again, and he rose, spear in hand to answer it. Needlessly, as it turned out. Eofor pushed the door open and stepped in, his face tired but mostly fresh. "The innkeeper has tea and eggs waiting for us downstairs." He took a long look at the other man. "You look like you could use the meal even more than the rest of us could."

The Dunedan yawned again and ran his hands through his hair. "Do I really look that poorly?" he glanced at the mirror in the room and shook his head. "No, no I really look worse."

He let out still another yawn and looked around himself. "Eofor, you'll need to pack our equipment up while I go down and get our clothing from the clothmistress before breakfast."

He headed through door, staggering slightly as a headache took him and rounded the corner towards the stairs. Dinennaur watched him go and pursed her lips. "Eofor, hadn't you better go down with him? He seems a little unsteady this morning and…"

"No, that's Farbarad on the average day, at least from what I can tell. He is no early morning person, and this is especially hard on him."

"Ah, very well." Dinennaur rolled up some of the Dunedan's supplies in a bedroll. "You said that I reminded you of one of your sisters. Who was she? What was she like?"

"She is dead." Eofor said shortly. There was a pause and then he raised a hand, rubbing at his face. "In life, she dressed much like you and she was a master of sneaking up on folk. She also had a quick temper and a quicker tongue. I have yet to be on the receiving end of that temper of yours, but your anger at this Morangmacar reminds me of her."

"Hmm." Dinennaur looked down at her hands, and at a locket lying on the table along with other the other things she was packing up. The locket was a little silver thing with a boar's head engraving. "Whose is this, then? It is a beautiful little thing."

Eofor's head raised and his eyes clouded over when he saw the locket hanging from the _elleth's _hand. "Ah, that would be mine. Give it here, would you?" He took it from her hand and stowed it in the drawstring pouch hanging around his neck. "It was from an old and dear friend…but that is yet another tale for another day.".

He forced a lighter tone into his voice and gave her a pained smile. "Come along, Dinennaur. Farbarad's waiting for us. Here, take this sack of dry clothes and kerchiefs and put it in his pack."

Dinennaur looked worriedly over at the Rohir, but he was bustling about, packing up a deck of cards into another drawstring pouch and stowing them in the sack with his clothing.

"Very well." The two finished packing up in silence and went downstairs, where Farbarad was tucking into a plate of eggs and bacon, and a cup of good, hot tea. Sitting in a corner, sipping away at his own tea, was the hooded scholar Eofor had noticed the night before, a strange man who occasionally raised his head to study the little group. Beside him was a large pack and a very long bundle wrapped in a pair of bedrolls.

A sharp gasp from the Elf drew both her companion's eyes back to her. "Is something wrong?"'

"He's here in the room, I can feel it, and I can smell it." A thrill shot up the Dunedan's spine at that, and he swung eyes around the room, looking for anything out of the ordinary. There was the scholar, who always kept to himself and always wore a hood. There were three other hooded men, perhaps mercenaries, who also were having little to do with anyone else in the tavern. Going up to any of them would thro….a litany of curses rattled off in his head as he watched Eofor walk over to the scholar.

Claideb's head rose as the Eorling approached, and he fought the quivering of his nerves. There was a chance the red-head was just curious, but every part of his Orcish side was shrieking at him to run, or to strike and strike now. The Elf's smell, so familiar to him by now, was sharp in his nostrils. It brought back a rush of memories and pushed his desire to get out of the tavern to new heights. "_I can bury the short-sword under my cloak into the Eorling's belly and then crash out through a window…NO! No, no, that would mean leavin' my sword and spear, as well as the supplies I did'na leave with the Warg, and that I will na' do. Besides, that would certainly tip off the Elf and tark; it's just too risky"_

"Good morning." Eofor sat down at a chair across from the half-breed and plunked his mug of tea down beside him. "You seem to be a quiet sort, not half bad, but you're missing out on good company." Claideb just grunted and turned the page on his book.

"Very well, perhaps company doesn't interest you, but we certainly do . I caught you looking at us earlier. Why?" Here the scholar closed his book and turned his cowled head up to the Eorling.

"Because I've never seen the likes of ye or yer hooded companion in this land, child of Eorl." The voice was deep, with a heavy but not unpleasant brogue. "What brings what looks to be a woman of the Noldorin and a man of the Riddermark into a hole-in-the-wall tavern such as this?"

Eofor tilted his head shortly and studied the cowled figure. It would not do to tell this one too much if he was really what they were looking for. Furthermore, their real business was none of this man's business even if he wasn't the half-breed

"You guess rightly as to our lady companion's blood, though I can't say I know how you managed that guess. As for our business: well, I cannot entirely speak for the Elf, but I came to Eriador a while ago in searching of a change of scenery. I have taken the Elf and Dunedan back there on as companions. Now that I have answered your question, I'd have you answer one of mine. You wear a heavy hood, friend. Why is that?"

The figure chuckled. "You lie as to your business, Eorling. But I can na blame ye, it's good to be close-lipped with a stranger. I know you are huntin' something, that is why ye came to me first with these questions. As to the question, well, now: Why does yer companion wear a hood? Why do some other of these patrons wear hoods?"

He sipped at his tea again. "I will tell ye why I wear this, rude though ye be. I was a soldier before I became a scholar, and a Haradrim scimitar rearranged my face in a battle in Harondor. Hardened a warrior though I'm sure ye are, I assure you that ye do'na want to see what's left of my face."

"Now, you lied to me about your business, but I wo'na repay that ill because my business is no secret. I was in Eriador explorin' the archives of a local historian, Gondbarad by name, who lives near the ruins of Fornost. Some of his work is very interestin'. If you're in Eriador much longer, I would recommend seeing the ruins and sharin' a table with him. I'm headed back to Gondor now to take what I've written to a printer."

"Hmm, yes I will have to look him up while I am here, and I have heard that the ruins of Fornost are worth seeing at least once. But…" Here Eofor frowned. "I do not lie, friend. That would be most dishonorable, and I hold my honor dear. That you would impugn it is an unkind thing."

"Well, little care I about bein' kindly." The scholar paused, considering his next words. "Howe'er, since ye protest so, I'll stop saying you lied and say that you merely prudently hid your true business. For all I know ye could be sight-seein' here as well as hunting some wanted man."

"That's better. I'll not keep you from your books much longer, master…."

"Claideb."

"Master Claideb, then. I hope to read something of your writings in the future. I shall see you again, perhaps."

"Perhaps we shall, perhaps we shall na, one never can tell about the roads one's life takes. Farewell"

Eofor walked back to Dinennaur and Farbarad, with the Dunedan giving him a positively poisonous look. "You fool, what were you doing back there? If that man was our prey you might have…"

"Might have given him warning that we were looking for him? If he was our prey, he would have already known that, my talking to him shouldn't have alarmed him overmuch. And if it did, and he did something foolish, we would have our man. You really should give me more credit, Farbarad."

The bigger man glowered, taking a step into the Eorling's space. "I was going to say that he could have killed you. This creature doesn't want to be found out, and if he's found out he doesn't want to be caught. You sat blithely in front of him hands away from your sword. If he was our prey he could have put a dagger through your guts and you couldn't have done a thing about it. You really shouldn't worry us like this. Who would I have to taunt if you got yourself gutted?"

Eofor had already had his mouth open to rebut what he felt the Dunedan was going to say, but Farbarad's words were nothing like what he'd expected from him. He ending up shutting his mouth with a click. It'd been a long time since he'd been around anyone who'd should him this much care. Farbarad sound more like family than a stranger. Perhaps the black sheep of the family, but family nonetheless. The men stood silently for a moment before the red-head reached over to grip his companion's forearm.

"Thank you for your concern, Farbarad. I will take better care of myself, in only to spare you worry. Now, we need to…" His voice trailed off as he watched the scholar and the caravan party from last night stood and headed for the door, leaving the tavern in one big mass. "Dinennaur, is this Man-Orc still here?"

Dinennaur's eyes narrowed. "No, but I know which one it was now. The man Eofor just spoke with is the largest man here, he's one we're looking for. If we hurry, we can catch up to him before he's gotten too far down the road."

The words sparked the little group into action, and they charged for the doors. Farbarad had brought Eacen and Cardolan to the hitching post, as well as a silver-grey horse that the stable-boy had said belonged to the strange hooded lady, and it was a simple matter to lay supplies on the horses and trot off down the road after the huge cloaked form hurrying down the road beside the caravan.

**Author's Note:**

**A couple more notes on Claideb. Some of this will be referenced later. I had planned to do an interlude, but this chapter seemed to be a better idea, as it's us going ahead with the plot. **

**I know that one of the first confirmed incidents of a true half-Orc is around 3018-3019 of the Third Age, give or take a bit, but it's not beyond the realm of possibility that some existed before then and just weren't well-noticed as they were when Saruman's half-Orcs helped install him in the Shire or fought the men of Rohan at the Fords of Isen and Helm's Deep. **

**Claideb is one of these, a Man-Orc dating from the start of the 3****rd**** Age, c.4-500 Third Age. A long time to live, yes, but I'm going with the "Orcs are twisted Elves" theory* of Orcish heritage, and that he's got such a long lifespan because, for the purposes of this story, Orcs have the same lifespan as Elves.**

**If I remember correctly, there was a letter Tolkien sent or something he wrote (the citation escapes me) where he said it would take a while to debase a man enough to breed with an Orc. Claideb's ancestor was an unusually vile Black Numenorean for his generation, and so he would be one of the rare exceptions to the rule that Tolkien set down. **

*I know, Tolkien later expressed some serious doubts about his original theory of Orcs being Elves but it'll work for this story.

**Farbarad is...inconsistent sometimes. He is still very self-interested (with some exceptions), but he is capable of friendship and affection. These feelings just have to war with his natural self-preservation instinct, creating those imbalances in his character. **


	10. Pursuit, Deals, and Old Plans

Of Pursuits, Deals, and a Return to Old Plans

Ha, I have returned for a while.

Disclaimer: I (rather obviously) do not own Lord of the Rings, that belongs to JRR Tolkien and the Tolkien Foundation.

'**Confusticate" also seems to be a Tolkienesque term, and thus it also belongs to him. **

A quick glance behind to see the Elf and her companions mounting up for the purusit sent the Man-Orc into a panic. He had been a fool to let the Eorling rattle him like he had. True, he'd played his hand well enough with the red-head, but the encounter had badly shaken him. If the Eorling had spoken to him once, then he may do it again, and one of his friends might have come along as well.

He quickened the pace, cursing himself all the while. It shouldn't have shaken him like that, a simple conversation should not have cost him his nerve.

It was the Elf's fault, all her fault! He knew how to avoid normal detection, but Elves had some sense of his kind. He feared she would come and speak with him to find him out, and then it would all be over. He should have left before dawn, then they never would have found him.

The crowning piece of his folly was running off when the Elf could tell he'd left. That was an act so stupid that he half-deserved to have her cut his head off and stick it on a pike. He knew that was why she'd followed him. He knew the Elves found his presence obnoxious, and he couldn't quite blame them. He'd do the same to any Orc stupid enough to continually raid his camp. That she was the one coming after him was fitting. Still, he wasn't about to just lie down and let Dinennaur cut his head off and parade about with it.

Blast it all…so much careful planning, all the care he had taken not to draw attention to himself, all wasted in a foolish attack of nerves! His big legs exploded into action, tearing into the ground beneath them as he dashed off towards the thickest part of the woods off on his right, past shocked caravaneers and guards. His hood flew back, exposing harsh features and muddy brown skin, drawing gasps from the few men who caught a glimpse of his face before he sped by them.

Another glance over one shoulder showed his hunters hot on his trail, and the Eorling had urged his horse into a fast trot, building into a gallop. It would all be over if he caught him, it would all be decided in the next few moments. Fear and fury lent speed to Claideb's limbs, and he tore into the woods just a few spear-lengths ahead of the Eorling and his fast horse. The Eorling reined up at the edge of the woods, and the two stared at each other through the trees.

Once there, the half-breed didn't move a muscle, and Eofor felt a chill slide up his spine as savage green and red eyes peered curiously into his own. "Come out and fight, coward!"

"Na' on your life, Eorling. Come in here and fight me in the woods, unless yer too much of a weak-kneed lily-liver to fight off a horse's back." He shot a glance past the red-head to the newly arrived Dinennaur and Farbarad and curled a lip before darting deeper into the forest.

Eofor cursed, swinging out of the saddle as Dinennaur and Farbarad rode up. "The wretch is gone. He went through that tangle there." He pointed with his bow as Farbarad swung out of his saddle next, squinting his eyes.

"This is thick cover, and hard to see though. Still, I would bet he's staying close enough to watch us, but far enough to get clear should we come in after him. Clever wretch, really." He shook his head. "Dinennaur, can you see anything else through this infernal tangle?"

The Elf stared silently ahead for a long moment. "Not really, no. I can see through it better than you, but I lack your skill at picking up small track points. There's nothing for it, we must needs go in after him."

"Really?" Farbarad swung back up onto Cardolan with a grunt. "I want to catch this beast as much as anyone, but I won't go into cover hunting him, not even with a Noldo at my side and Eofor at my back. We can't swing around the woods either, they are too deep and run too long for a flanking ride. He'd be out the other side and gone by the time we got there."

Eofor chewed his lip slowly, staring stonily into the forest. "What do you recommend then, Farbarad? You aren't saying we should give up the hunt, are you?"

Farbarad snorted. "Give up? No, no, not at all. However, we should postpone it until a later date. We don't need to fight him on the Noldo's time schedule. We can hunt this beast when he doesn't know it, and come on him when he least expects it. At some point he's sure to come back to plague Rivendell again, and we can follow his tracks from there on our way back through High Pass from Rhovanion."

"Postpone it?" Dinennaur's eyes flashed. "Really? And if he decides to find a place to winter and doesn't come to Imladris for months, what then?"

"Then you'll just have to winter with us in Imladris or somewhere near it. I am not going to throw my life away hunting an animal like that in cover."

"I see. Did you think that he could cause trouble for the people in this land if we don't handle him now?"

"You have me confused with the Rangers. Frankly I haven't seen this beast before, and I don't think he's quite as dangerous to the men here as you are painting him. At least, he's not dangerous enough to go in after him now."

The Elf glared at Farbarad. "I see. Then I will go after him alone."

"Indeed? Well then, it will be on your head if the crows get fat on you this evening." The man turned Cardolan back around towards the Old East Road. "Are you coming, Eofor?"

The Eorling in question glanced between the two for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I will stay and help Dinennaur. True, I know little of Elves, but I won't abandon one I promised to help just because there is a little risk involved."

Farbarad threw the reins down suddenly and his temper burst. "This is not just a little risk, Eofor! You cannot fight well from a horse in the woods, and that means you give up a lot of the advantages of your training, confusticate it! You yourself saw what that beast can do when he gets the edge on a man on foot in close cover. I know you're a good swordsman, but could you really survive his rush if he came at you from behind?" The Eorling stubbornly folded his arms across his chest, pulling an oath from the Dunedain.

"I cannot believe you are giving me this trouble, Eofor!. I care about what happens to you, but I won't have you use that concern to drag me to my death. Come and meet me at the "Hawk and Hare's Foot" when you're through being a stubborn fool." The Dunedain rode off at a trot, broken cursing rising above the rhythm of Cardolan's hooves.

The Elf gave the Eorling a small smile. "I'm honored by your decision to stay, Eofor, but our paths split here. Your duty is to your people, and to Farbarad, not to that of strange folk like myself."

Eofor gulped back a lump in this throat. "No. I swore to help you, and that I will do on my honor."

Dinennaur's eyes flickered, and she rode forward slowly. "On your honor? If your duty really is to me, then you will listen to me: there is no sense in risking both our lives."

He hesitated, and the Elf's temper snapped. "Go! Get to the "Hawk and Hare's Foot", and find Farbarad. If you're that concerned for me, even though we've known each other such a short time, then wait for a day or two at the inn before moving on. If I don't arrive while you're waiting, then give the watchmen at the fords of Bruinen this…" She tossed a brooch to the shocked man. "They will know what to do when you get it. Now go, and the blessings of the Valar be with you!"

Eofor hesitated again, drawing a soft "Please. It's not as bad as you suspect, Eofor. The brute and I have met before. Likely nothing serious will happen. It's a four to one chance that I'll come back in a day or so. But if I don't, then I don't want you to die with me. Please, leave."

His faced worked for a moment, and then he finally nodded. He swung into the saddle and spurred Eacen off towards the road, casting an occasional glance back over his shoulder at the _elleth_.

Dinennaur watched him gallop off and let out a ragged sigh before turning back to the wood. Her hackles pricked and she choked back a gasp as she caught sight of the Man-Orc standing not five spear lengths in front of her. His two-handed sword in his hands and a long, heavy whaling spear, a harpoon was stuck in the ground in front of him.

"Well, you have'na changed at all in face or manner, Elf, not in the seven years since I last saw you in Mirkwood. You're still stubborn and headstrong as ever. The Dunedan and Eorling both had good points, but you kicked them off because what they said or did was'na what ye wanted. If I were to break a rule and tell the truth, I'd say that that was na' your best trait."

"Really? If I wanted advice on how to change my life, I would get it from _ada _and _naneth_, or lord Elrond and mayhap his sons. You'd be the last source for this sort of counsel. Shall we begin?"

The Elf moved her horse forward, and Claideb stepped back, raising a hand. At any other time, he'd be happy to fight the Elf right now, this was different. They both knew why she was here, and he knew something she didn't know. He knew that she'd always fought him with the intent to kill, but that her actions didn't always match her mental state. Her assault was always furious, always a delight to match and master. Yet something seemed to keep her from going all-out.

Now, he'd never doubted that she wanted to kill or meant to kill. If he missed a parry or a sidestep, he'd be skewed. She wouldn't hold back as he did. Still, it wasn't as furious as when they'd first met, when she was still giving her all into trying to kill him. That she could be so unaware of what she was doing as she seemed was a shock to him. Still, the look in her eyes now told him that this fight was even more serious than most. It would be like it was in the old days. Worse, actually. These matches had done a great deal to hone her skill with that spear. Of course, he'd picked up new tricks as well. But the idea of either he'd have to use all his skill, which could mean killing the Elf, or being killed himself wasn't appealing. It was too much fun the way things were to change it.

"Stay where ye are, Noldo. I want a little chit-chat afore we jump into it again. Try anything before we have our talk, and I'll be off like a shot, and we both know who the faster runner is."

"Do we really? You've only outrun me in the past because you either tripped me or knocked me back before running for your miserable hide. Other times you've only won because you threw things at me back over your shoulder while running. But I won't get dragged into another argument. What do you want, Morangmacar?""

The half-breed's green and red eyes sparkled wickedly. "As ever, you make excuses for your own slowfootedness."

"I asked you a question, _orch. _Don't try to wiggle away from it. What are you doing here? And what in the name of Valinor were you doing making such a regal pest of yourself in Imladris? You followed me there for reasons I can't quite understand, and you've interfered with the way the refuge has lived for years now. It's brought embarrassment to me and mine. Lord Elrond might see you as little more than a pox or a pest, but a number of other Noldo and Sinda have told me otherwise: that they blame me for you harassing all of us and that you should be gone."

"The best answer is this: I've run out of worthy foes. Ihave na had a decent challenge since our encounter in Mirkwood seven years ago."

The corner of one of the Elf's eyes twitched. "Worthy foe? Yes, I suppose I'm good support. Yet one can end up very dead if they don't probably evaluate their sport and plan a good approach, as you no doubt learned from Eofor almost spearing you today."

The half-breed growled, "I considered my approaches, Elf. I'm na' a fool. If I were I would have cut ye down years ago. It is because I'm na a fool that I realized that your folk are more sport to leave alive so that they can grow stronger and make the next fight better. All that happened with the Eorlin' was that I lost my nerve…" He paused, cursing himself as the Elf's mocking laughter filled his hears.

"Lost your nerve? The great and brave Morangmacar, slayer of Orcs of all forms and kinds, lost his nerve after speaking with an Eorling? I always thought your courage was more your own press and bravado, but I had no idea you were that much of a coward. " Dinennaur's eyes flashed with dark mirth. The beast was not slow witted, but every once in a while he'd leave himself open, and words could sting as bad as blade if used right.

The stroke cut deep. Claideb's whole body stiffened, and a growl, a heavy, guttural sound that had sent Orcs running for their lives before, rattled deep in the half-breed's chest. Foolish Elf! He'd killed his fair share of men for saying that, and here she was, blindly running on the edge of his temper. Or...not so blindly, really. He and she had fought each other long enough to know the best insults to use in verbal battles. He took a deep breath and calmed the rush of his blood to a dull roar. It wouldn't do to get angry. It wouldn't do to start a fight now. He had to fight all his nature and not lunge at this annoyed _golug._

"Are you finished mocking me, yet?"

"On that matter, yes." The _elleth_ hesitated. "I'd hoped to have more hands to help me. I hope you can see reason here, Morangmacar. It's not in your best interests to die or kill someone who provides such…sport. The reasonable thing to do is leave Imladris be. I could meet with you from time to time, if you are sas desperate to meet your end at my hand as you seem to be, but I want to see neither hide nor hair of you near my home."

"There's no other way out of this? Either I take the offer or fight and risk my neck? A poor negotiator ye are. Have ye forgotten that ye owe me a debt for the time I saved your life near Dol Guldur seven years ago? Humiliation and the bad blood of some of yer neighbors is better than sittin' about the Halls of Mandos."

Dinennaur shook her head. "Yes, I remember that debt, but you'd be better off saving it for a time when you're truly at my mercy. As of now you could run or fight. I wouldn't count a favor from me as a favor to be used to lightly."

"Although I am not sure you entirely meant to save my life in that battle. You might've been trying to stab me when you killed the Orc, or perhaps you were trying to thrust through him and into me."

"Give my skill some credit, Elf. I would'na have picked an opening for that thrust that I knew had a chance of bein' blocked by another creature. As for skewerin' both of ye together on my sword, it is possible, but then I would'na have tried to stab you through a creature whose own comrades called him "Agrash the Paunch"."

Dinennaur's nose wrinkled at the memory; the sheer smell and weight of that particular Orc had been hard to bear, especially when he keeled over dead on top of her. But if it hadn't been, then perhaps he would have been called "Agrash the Lean" or "Agrash the Elf-Smelling".

"Fine. I'll take yer foul deal. I can'na' believe ye're even offerin' this to me if I've cause even half the trouble ye say I have." His face brightened. "I was planning to winter on the coast, anyways. Lucky for you, where I plan to stay is somewhere far enough from the nearest towns that there's no worry about me disturbin' your precious Shirelings and Elves, and Men."

The Elf nodded. "Good. I will meet you here every other year for the next two score or so of years. That should be more than enough time and opportunity for me to have a sure chance of ending you. Our first match of the set will take place in six months. "

"Only every other year? Not hardly. Are ye sure ye can'na meet me every year?" He studied the Elf thoughtfully, or as thoughtfully as anything with Orcish blood could do. Just under her coif, he could see the bottom lines of an odd discolored scar, and that piqued his interest. He thought he'd killed the one who specialized in those marks. How interesting. He would have liked to stay and ask about it, but there was no time now. The Elf was waiting for her answer, and there was little point in angering her needlessly by stalling or haggling.

'But then that may be the best offer I get from ye. The terms are accepted, I will see you in six months." He tossed a small horn-handled knife at the Elf's horse's feet. "That's from my first kill outside the pits, a maggot named Gorzog. He was worth the kill, though the Captain striped me up and down the fortress for it. Until our next meeting, she-Elf."

The half-breed grabbed his harpoon out of the ground and was gone in a flash, his heavy feet crashing through the brush. Dinennaur watched him go, and took a long, low breath to calm herself before turning and riding back towards the "Hawk and Hare's Foot". Cardolan and Eacen were tethered up in front of the tavern, and Farbarad was leaning up against the wall, picking his teeth with a hand-carved pick.

His head rose as she rode up, and he did his best to conceal the slightly relieved grin that flicked across his lips. "That little idiot Eofor gave me some ridiculous story about you wanting us to wait a whole day for you. I for one am glad you didn't waste as much of my time as that." The grin came in full display now, with little to no attempt to hide it. "He'll be pleased to see you, and I'm pleased to see you for his sake. You are a headstrong wench, and about the wrong things too. You had him worried sick. But you're back, and no harm done. At least, no lasting harm."

He paused to cough and absent-mindedly scratch at his stubble. "Well. Rhovanion awaits and all, and we've wasted enough time on your silly errand. We're ready to go when you are, Elf." He fought another grin and did his best to scowl as he pushed himself off the wall and shouted through the open tavern door for Eofor.

Truth he told he was a little worried about the Elf. Not enough to stay and get killed, but she'd not been bad company. Also, while she wasn't the best-looking _elleth_ she was certainly easier on the eyes than Eofor.

He snorted at that thought. He was becoming more and more a wretch with every passing day. Haduil would be so disappointed. Actually, that was cause to keep up his bad habits. An ear-licking grin spread across his face at that, but he tamped it down when he caught Dinennaur looking at him oddly.

Eofor burst back outside a moment later, and the man's face split in a wide grin. "Lady Dinennaur! It is a good thing to see you again." He unhitched Eacean from his tether and clambered up into the saddle, while Farbarad, grousing, hurried to do the same with Cardolan.

"I'd hoped you'd change your mind, and here you did! I cannot even begin to tell you how glad I am to see you well. What happened though? Why the sudden change of heart?" The Eorling's enthusiasm was infectious, and soon even Farbarad was grinning, though he remained silent.

"It's good to see you again as well, Eofor. Truth be told I hadn't expected to see either of you again after our ways parted." She paused, looking down at the horn dagger hanging from her belt. "It seems our prey is strangely reasonable, for an Orc. He offered to meet me here in six month's time. He is also a talkative beast, something I should have expected from my last encounters with him but had done my best to forget."

Eofor chuckled. "Aye, I noticed that as well when I talked to him. Are we sure he's trustworthy though?"

"He gave me a keepsake of his for security, and I'm inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. I hadn't expected him to come out to speak with me at all, and I didn't feel that he was lying." Dinennaur's brow creased, and she glanced back down at the dagger. "He and I have been enemies for long enough for me to know him almost as well as I do my comrades in arms. He will keep his word."

Elf and Eorling had fallen behind while talking, and Farbarad took the lead, surging ahead on his trusty little pony. He glanced back over his shoulder at the two, and sniffed. "I'm riding a pony and I'm still ahead of you gossipy old hens on war-horses. Come along, ride alongside me, I promise not to mock you too harshly, and I'd as soon as not be left out of any talking we do along the way."

Dinennaur leant over to clap the Eorling on the shoulder. "Eofor, I wanted to thank you again for being willing to stand with me back there. I promise to repay that honor soon enough. Shall we go on and join Farbarad?"

Eofor's smile, broad before, was positively radiant now. He had found a place for himself after leaving the _eored _as the shield brother of a Dunedain and of a Noldo, and they were going on a new adventure. To make matters even better, the clouds were starting to break up in the sky. It was going to be a good day, Eofor could feel it.

"Aye, let's go." He gently edged Eacen into a faster walk. "Hoi, Farbarad, slow down a little, man. You're going to half-kill poor Cardolan if you keep him at that speed all day!"

Farb' reined the pony in and rode a half-circle back to ride on Eofor's other side. "Cardolan's a tough little mount, but you are the master of horseflesh. Don't get too big a head from me saying that, though."

"I don't think he will, Farbarad. Those clouds still look threatening, do you think we'll have rain?"

Eofor's mood was still far too bouncy for Farbarad's tastes. "Rain? Surely not, the clouds are moving off, and you can see barest glimpse of sunlight. We're going to have a beautiful da…"

Thunder boomed off in the distance, and Eofor turned his head to see fresh storm clouds moving in from the east.

Farbarad smirked. "I thought you said we'd have a beautiful day, Eofor."

"Be silent, Dunedan!" Eofor tried to scowl at him, the effect was rather spoiled by his shoulders shaking with supressed laughter.

Farbarad's own shoulders bounced wildly up and down as he fair guffawed. The man of Numenor's laughter ran long and loud, and then the sky opened up on top of them. "Ah, Warg-filth. Do you suppose the Valar are punishing me for mocking you?"

**Author's Note: Had to edit it again because it made no sense in light of later events. . **

**As the story alludes, Eofor has had some sad things happen in his past, but he is still a fairly perky character, perhaps the perkiest in the story. This may have to do with his compensating for his twin's more subdued nature, but there it is. **

**The other thing to keep in mind when contrasting some of his behavior with his past is that he is starting a clean slate here, and is trying to be as positive and up-beat as possible going into it all. For Eofor, there are boundless possibilities in traveling with Farbarad, and that is something exciting for him. **

**He is in some ways a sort of Rohirric Samwise Gamgee, a disturbing thought to be sure, though he's different enough that you wouldn't expect him to offer Claideb a dish of fish and chips. (hopefully.) **

**As for Eofor and Dinennaur. Well, I think a part of Eofor has transferred some of his affection for his dead sister to Dinennaur, hence his stronger loyalty to her. It's not logical, but he's a young man and was probably close to this particular sibling. Dinennaur looks enough like her that Eofor would pick up on it. It's not so much that he's trying to replace his dead sister as that he just wants something resembling a female sibling to be close to. Yeah, he's a little odd, but his oddities aren't as bizarre as Claideb/Morangmacar's. **

**The Elf...I wanted to get down that she's by no means an easy to get along with character. She's pushy, and prefers things done her way. That said, she isn't totally unreasonable, and she'll have her good side shown later. **

**Farbarad's actually the easiest to write for some reason, despite his odd mix of blatant selfishness and concern for those close to him. **


	11. Of the Naneth and Imladris

Rivendell and Unrest in the Mountains 

Disclaimer: I (rather obviously) do not own Lord of the Rings, that belongs to JRR Tolkien and the Tolkien Foundation.

The next two weeks or so went by in a blur for the three travelers. The weather cleared up two days or so after they left the "Hawk and Hare's Foot", and that made the travel by day all the more pleasant. They would ride one day and walk the next to let the mounts rest a little. As far as Farbarad was concerned, the days he could ride were far better ones than the days he had to walk. Footsoreness was not his favorite state of being, but he had to admit that the walking did him good. His feet and legs were slowly getting used to the long walks and getting stronger. He would be as sturdy as a horse in a fortnight or so, but he saw no reason to suffer in silence in the interim.

The evenings centered around a campfire by the side of the road and were composed mostly of reading by firelight and blowing smoke rings late into the night. Then two of the party would retire to the tents, leaving the third out as the first watch of the night.

Or rather, that was how the first few nights went. By the third evening, Farbarad had finished repairing his severely broken down lute. That done, he filled the night air with tunes from Bree-Land and Dunedain songs he'd learned when he'd fought in Haduil's detachment. He did his best to eliminate some of the bawdier ones from his repertoire; after all, there were ladies present, and the Dunedan could be gentlemanly enough if necessary.

Dinennaur proved a dab hand on the mandolin she carried with her, and Eofor could squeeze some music out of the old bronze horn he carried in his days with the eored. They soon set a nighttime routine of singing and even dancing when they had the energy. The sounds of song and laughter often drew the attention of other travelers on the road, and the little groups would exchange the latest news and gossip.

Sometimes no one was in the mood for song or dance, and they swapped all sorts of strange stories those evenings. Eofor would tell old Rohirric bedtime stories to his companions and Farbarad would wiggle his fingers mysteriously as he told the stories of ghosts and phantoms that he used to tell his brothers at night around the campfire. Dinennaur's stories about battles and glories of long ago were a particular favorite of the Eorling's, and Farbarad learned at least a dozen new ghost stories from the _elleth_.

It was on one of these nights that all Farbarad's plans for the journey to Rhovanion ended up in the ashpit. They had crossed the Bruinen and gone on a ways past it, so they were very close to Rivendell and the end of their sojourn with Dinennaur_. _

For both Eofor and Farbarad, this was a somewhat bittersweet moment. On the one hand, they would be free to pursue their own affairs once they parted company with Dinennaur. On the other, she had not by any means been a terrible companion.

As far as Farbarad was concerned, no one who could play the mandolin that well could be anywhere close to being a poor companion. The frictions of two weeks ago had mostly died off and while there were still arguments, they'd been nowhere near as severe as the ones they'd had at the start of the journey. Dinennaur could be somewhat….particular at times, but she could brew a good pot of tea, and that could make up for many faults.

As for Eofor, well he seemed to have adopted her as an elder sister along the trip, and he would sit in rapt attention whenever she told him one of the stories of things from well before he was ever born. As far as he was concerned, a lot of the _elleth's_ more annoying habits were par for course for elder siblings, and if it really annoyed him he could always take a walk away from the camp for a bit. The thought of her leaving was not a happy one, but he bore it quietly.

Dinennaur was not at all happy to leave the party either. Truth be told, she hadn't had such a good time on an adventure in quite a while. The chance to be out on the open road was a welcome change from the camps around Imladris and the regularity of work in the refuge. Yet there was not much she could do about leaving Eofor and Farbarad's company. She was a sworn soldier of her lord, and she couldn't go gallivanting all over Middle Earth without getting his approval.

These thoughts in mind, they decided to get as much story and song time in together as possible for this last night. To that end, they made camp a little early. They sat close together around the fire, drinking tea and eating waybread and boiled dry sausage, and things looked like they were shaping up to be a very normal night.

Dinennaur had just reached into one of her packs when both she and Farbarad paused. The sound was imperceptible to any but another Elf or Ranger, which explained the odd look Eofor gave them both, but it was definitely a footfall. Multiple footfalls.

"Well now." Farbarad straightened and grinned. "No Orc would dare come this close to Rivendell, and I can't think that this Morangmacar would be fool enough to follow us. I'm sure it's just some of your people, _elleth_." He raised his voice. "_Mae govannen_, warriors of Imladris! What brings you to our campfire?"

Five Elves stepped out of the gloom. One of them bore an ornate clasp on his cloak, confirming his high status in Elrond's guard. He would have said something, but a cry of "_Naneth_!" from three of the Elves interrupted him. The three rushed over to Dinennaur, followed closely by somewhat stockier Noldo with a greatsword slung over his back. Three of the Elves were talking a league a minute, and Dinennaur was swamped trying to answer all their questions and ask some of her own.

"Naneth?" Farbarad arched his eyebrows. "I have a hard time believing that she is mother to all you three…four, I should say."

The greatsword-bearer glanced over at the Dunedan, and crossed to him, clasping his hand firmly. "_Mae govannen_, Dunedan! In the excitement, I don't think anyone's welcomed you to our lands in all this excitement. _Mae govannen_, _Rohir_; I cannot say that I have ever seen one of your people so far north."

"Thank you. Now, about my question…"

"Aye. Well, she tries to mother all of us; that includes even me, and I'm her commander! Lagormacar, at your service, by the by. At any rate, she's a sort of healer, sort of spearwoman in my unit, and she fusses over us both on and off the battlefield."

"You too, then?" Eofor grinned. "Now I understand some of her fussing about us over the last two weeks. I never knew that there were such specific ways for preparing food or fluffing pillows."

"_Muinthel!" _Lagormacar and the bearer of the ornate brooch winced as the yell echoed through the valley. It appeared that Coerheledir had finally got the rocks out of his boots.

Dinennaur's eyes brightened on hearing her brother's voice. True, she wasn't keen on leaving her newfound friends' company, but she had missed her unit and still more her family. The sight of him rushing towards her was pleasant beyond words, but she tried to contain her excitement. It wouldn't do her image any favors if she hopped about in glee and acted silly as a goose.

"_Muindor!"_So much for restraint. She darted past her comrades towards her brother, arms outstretched. The young Elf lifted his sister and spun about with her, laughing. Some of her self-awareness returned with that, and she kicked her legs about. "Set me down! Little brother, this is hardly dignified!"

The scolding went only as far as her words; despite herself, Dinennaur was laughing as much as Coerheledir was. She somehow managed to wave an arm at her companions as her brother continued to spin around and around with her. "Farbarad, Eofor, this is my brother, Coerheledir."

The young _ellon_ finally set her down and grinned back at the two men. "I see you found help in tracking the Morangmacar. Eofor and Farbarad, eh?" He cross the camp and shook their hands warmly. "It is good to meet you both. Thank you for aiding my sister, I am in your debt."

,

The clasp-bearer coughed and shook his head. "You say that too quickly, Coerheledir." Dinennaur turned to other Elf, and bowed quickly, eyes a little wide. "Dinennaur, is the Morangmacar dead?"

Dinennaur shook her head. "My Lord Elrohir….I…I am sorry, but I failed. He and I will meet and settle our differences some months from now, though. How did you find us, my lord?"

Elrohir frowned. "That's too bad, but there's nothing for it, I suppose. At least he didn't kill you, and at least you and he have set a date for the pulling of this thorn. As for me finding you, well now, perhaps I should keep a few of my secrets."

His lips twitched into a slight grin and he gently elbowed Lagormacar. "Don't you agree, Lagormacar?"

Lagormacar shook his head and rubbed his ribs. "I sent him word via falcon. So, Morangmacar got clear again? That's not good, but it is not the worst that could happen. You'll have better fortune the next time your path crosses his. We'll train to get you ready for that duel."

"Aye, I'll even take a hand and spar with you, if you wish. You're not a bad fighter, and I am getting tired of sparring with Elladan." Elrohir's eyes cut to the Dunedan. "I know you, Farbarad son of Farlung. It has been some time, as men count it, since our paths crossed last."

Farbarad smiled. "Aye, it has, my lord. Forgive me for being so bold, but you've never used that tone with me unless you needed something from me. I may no longer be a Ranger, but I do still owe you a deep debt. What do you need? And will you be so forbearing as to let me ask what you will give me for helping you?"

The Eorling shook his head and fought a rising headache. "And here I thought you said you owed him a debt. Normally one doesn't ask for compensation for that sort of thing."

"Never underestimate my scoundrel nature, Eofor." That was more or less muttered out the side of the Dunedan's mouth and broadened Elrohir's smile ever so slightly.

"Two young Rangers are in Imladris at the moment, and they have a strange tale to tell. I want you and your friend to come with me and hear them out. I wouldn't normally grant a _rohir _so unknown to us the favor of seeing Imlradis, but we will trust Dinennaur and Farbarad's judgment as regards their choice of companions. We'll see if there's anything you and Master Eofor can do to aid us in the matter of these young men's reports. As for rewards…." Elrohir huffed into the night air and his eyes flicked up to the sky as he thought. "Well now, your debt to me is well beyond repayment, so perhaps a reward for you would be in order. I am a little shocked that you've become such a scoundrel, but that's neither here nor there for now."

Dinennaur perked up on hearing that. There was a chance that Lord Elrond would send Eofor and Farbarad off on an errand? Then there just might be a chance that her travels with them were not over yet. After all, the two were sure to need another companion to help keep watch and fight alongside them if need be, and she had the advantage of knowing them both and being able to work with them…somewhat.

Eofor grunted. "Hmm. To see this Imladris and do some service for the Rangers here? This sounds likes something I'd enjoy. I've never even heard of such a place before, and to go to it….well, it would be a great honor. Shall we depart?" Seven sets of Noldorin eyebrows rose as the Eorling packed up his gear and lit a torch from his pack in the fire. "Is there something wrong, friends?"

Elrohir shrugged. "Nothing overmuch. It's just that I hadn't thought that an Eorling would be so eager to see Rivendell. Then again, I would suppose that it _is _a special honor for you to come to Imladris. We are careful who we let into our sanctuary, you know, and we try to guard our borders well." A shadow passed over his fair face, and it was a look not lost on the Elves. '_Sometimes not well enough'_

He shook himself and took a deep breath. Grief was a weighty thing that had its place, but this was not the time or place. "Well, if you are all read..."

He looked at Farbarad and grimaced. The Dunedan's arms folded and his eyebrows drew together sharply. "No I am definitely not ready. I have had a long march and I am ready for a well-earned rest and…" Here Eofor stepped in and slung the larger man over his shoulders.

To say that Farbarad was displeased would be an understatement. "Put me down! Put me down, Eofor! I'm not enjoying this in the slightest! Stop laughing, Dinennaur, this is not amusing. It's not amusing at all."

Eofor shifted his grip on his companion and started walking. "You're the one saying you're tired, friend. I'm just trying to help you along so we can get to this Imladris as soon as possible and not waste any of these fine gentlemen's time."

Farbarad was silent for a long moment, and then what Dinennaur was sure was the greatest and longest sigh in all Arda whooshed out through the camp. There was little chance of talking Eofor out of something like this; while Farbarad had a strong will, it was tiresome to him to exercise it.

"Very well, Eofor, you've made your point. We'll set out for Imladris right this moment." The redhead set him down, and took a step back as the half-annoyed Dunedan jabbed him in the face with a bony finger.

Farbarad was aggravated with the Eorling, but not as much as might be supposed. Eofor was so honest, honorable, and sincere about everything that it really was hard to stay too angry with the lad. In a way, it was like having an over-excited nephew or favored frolicsome hunting dog. If only Eofor knew what he was being compared to…the thought of it put a small grin on Farbarad's face.

"Stubborn fool of a son of Eorl! I cannot believe I let you talk me into this, but I am a man of my word, at least mostly so." He shook his head and poked him in the chest once more before continuing.

"All the same, you should know that you've destroyed any interest I had in having a son someday. You'd somehow get ahold of him and make him as much like yourself as you yourself are. Well Lord Elrohir, we'd best break camp and head for Imladris as soon as we can. Dinennaur, I could use your help in taking these tents down."

Lagormacar coughed. "We'll be heading back to our own camp. My warriors wanted to see Dinennaur here return to Imladris, but we need to be back at our vigil. Good luck to you, _Naneth_. I hope to see you at my unit in a few days, or later if the _Aran _sends you on this quest with the Dunedan."

Dinennaur bowed to her captain and waved to her comrades as they trooped off into the night. The remaining folk found themselves on the road to Imladris just a short while later. They entered Imladris after what seemed to Farbarad to be an interminable hike, and the exhausted Dunedan collapsed in road just past the gate. Elrohir looked down at him and shook his head.

"You're going to have to get in better shape than that, _mellon nin_." He stooped to haul the man to his feet but Dinennaur waved him off.

"I'll take him, my lord. In his defense, he's not normally this easily tired. He's been taking the longest watches of any of us, so that counts for some of it. I told him not to burn the lantern at both ends, but he doesn't listen…Coerheledir, would you help Eofor?"

Eofor was yawning broadly and shaking his head to stay awake. He hadn't expected Imladris to be a twelve mile march, over rough terrain, from the campsite. If he'd known, he'd have agreed with Farbarad that it'd be best for them to sleep before making the trip.

As it was, he had his pride. He in turn handed Eacen's reins to Coerheledir and waved the Elf's help off. He staggered on sleepily behind the two. Even the sight of Dinennaur stumbling along with arms full of exhausted Dunedan failed to startle him into full alertness Nor did he jolt to his senses on hearing her repeated hissing that this was the sort of thing that she'd thank that worthless lump of meat Morangmacar for doing. The Eorling was never so grateful to lie down in a proper bed as he was when Coerheledir guided him to a little room in a house beside a smithy. The Eorling curled up in the soft blanket, nuzzled into an equally soft pillow, and slid off to the world of dreams.

Morning hit the Dunedan hard. He rolled out of bed and hit the wood floor with a curse. He clawed himself upright and stared around the little room, half ready to go back to bed. A flash of movement off to the right spun him about, hands half-clenched.

The newcomer yawned and stretched in his chair "You're awake, then? Good, I can let my brother and our host's noble guest know that you're awake and ready to hear their concerns."

Farbarad stared hard at the young Dunedan sitting in the chair by the door. He was mostly blade-thin, but his arms showed him for an archer, and the green and brown cloth marked him as one of the Rangers.

"Who, exactly, are you and where, exactly, am I?" The question came out a little raspy and harsh, but that was mostly because Farbarad was tired, and he disliked people sitting around in his room while he slept. In his current state the only thing he liked less than such folk were people who said they were going to take steps that would bar him from the future sleep until nightfall.

"I am Aralung, son of high captain Borgond of the Trollshaws division. You are in the house of Tologtirith, a blacksmith of Imladris. You are also very rude, but I can forgive that. My brother Fargond says I'm not all that courteous to him either."

"I see. I am truly grateful to have your pardon, Master Aralong." Farbarad snorted an irate snort and stared stonily at the younger man, who met his gaze unblinkingly. The minutes crawled by, and Aralung started shifting uneasily in his seat and doing his best not to blink. Farbarad caught the motion and smirked wickedly.

"I think you have something in your eye lad, and I'm being generous in saying that. I'd say that you don't have the spine to match your brash words. However, I would have no trouble taking you on as an apprentice in the arts of discourteousness." He waved off Aralung's angry denial and broadened his smirk. "Well now, I suppose I'd best meet your companions."

With that, Farbarad stepped out through the open door and down the simple stairs to the breakfast table. A powerfully built Elf and an _elleth_ were bustling about, bringing food from the kitchen to the main house. Dinennaur, Coerheledir, and Eofor were all seated at the table and tucking into their breakfast, and a silent bear of a young Dunedan sat across from them. The real shock to Farbarad was that the Lord of Imladris was sitting at the head of the breakfast table, serenely sipping tea and talking with Eofor. Beside him sat Halbarad, lieutenant of Aragorn himself.

Coerheledir waved a friendly hand at Farbarad as he came in, and tossed a scone in his direction. Farbarad caught it and started to break it open when he sensed the chill that came into the room with the young man's actions. To say that Coerheledir had just horrified his father would be an understatement. To say it was the height of impolite behavior to throw food in the presence of the lord and protector of all Imladris would be understating an understatement. Eofor felt Dinennaur tense beside him, and he quietly scooted his chair away from the angry _elleth_. He was not about to get into a fight between siblings.

Lord Elrond took the whole event in stride, and even seemed a little amused by it. "Calm yourself, Master Tologtirith. I am the father of two sons, and this is tame compared to what they did when they were young." His brows drew together slightly as he looked at the young Elf. "At the same time, what you did flaunts the laws of manners in a sweeping style. This is your father's house, not a soldier's dining tent. If you were a few years older, I would have spoken to your commander about this. As it stands…consider yourself reprimanded."

The table was quiet for a moment after that, and the folk around it shared in a tasty breakfast of boiled eggs, cheese, scones, butter, and jam. Slowly, talked warmed back up around the table, and eventually turned to the pressing matters at hand.

Halbarad cleared his throat and leant forward. "Our scouts and spies in the mountains have sent word of Orc trouble in recent months. I do trust the reports of the scouts, but I still wanted proper confirmation of this problem. To that end, I sent the sons of Captain Borgond to scout the mountains some time back. They sent word back to me via pigeon, asking me to meet them here in Imladris, as their report was too serious to communicate in other way than words. What they told Lord Elrond and I is troubling in the greatest sense of the word."

Fargond nodded. "Indeed so. The Orcs are massing again in the mountains. Sharolg, son of Bolg, was among the few Orcs who survived the Battle of the Five Armies. He claims the right to rule as the son of their dead warlord, and has since managed to throw his enemies out of Gundabad itself. Isn't that so, Aralung?" Aralung had lived with his brother long enough to know that that was a coded plea for him to step in and continue the report.

"Aye, he threw them out a bit too well. He found and threw out so many of his enemies that they bonded together against him. Most of these Orcs, from what we understand, hate Azog's line for bringing all sorts of slaughters and disasters on them."

He knocked his pipe out into the dish beside him and stretched back in his seat. "As we all know, Azog brought the War of Orcs and Dwarves and Bolg the Battle of the Five Armies. They claim that Sharolg is unfit to rule and they may well be right, though the idea of any Orc being fit to rule anyt…"

He paused, wide-eyed, as Dinennaur placed a hand on his mouth. "Your pardon, Lord Elrond, but this must be done." Elrond glanced from _elleth_ to _edan_ and nodded slowly. This was a little improper, but it wasn't quite as bad as tossing scones about. Tologtirith was evidently not of the same mind, and looked fit to die of embarrassment until Caranmirwen led him from the room to talk about something or other.

The _elleth _turned a pair of calm eyes on Aralung. You're a wry sort, friend, and I do not mind that one whit. Some Elves and some Men do, but not I. That said, we should hear the bare bones of it before we hear your commentary." Aralung nodded, still a little surprised. "Now, what of these enemies of Sharolg's?"

"There are several factions of exiled Orcs and they really only share a common dialect and a hatred of Azog. They would've cut each other's throats if they'd stayed in Gundabad, but exile's a funny thing. Their leader is Gurzahk…" Halbarad leant forwards and Aralung's eyes made an annoyed flick upwards as he found his report interrupted for the second time today.

"Gurzahk?" Halbarad's eyebrows rose. "Gurzahk of the Mountain Packs? The captain of Azog and then Bolg's Warg-riders?"

Eofor perked up at that, sensing a story somewhere in the Dunedan's words. "You and he've crossed paths, Master Halbarad?"

Halbarad made a face. "Not exactly, no. My duties keep me in Eriador for the most part, and Gurzahk has shown up more in Rhovanion than here. I do, however, have friends in Mirkwood who fought at the Battle of the Five Armies, and my Lord Aragorn has come across him in his travels. Gurzahk's a ruthless sort from what I've heard and he's a legend among the wolf-riders in the mountains."

Arlung opened his mouth again, and again he was interrupted. "Aye, you've hit it on the head, sir." Fargond ignored the withering scowl Aralung directed at him. "He is a popular leader…for an Orc, at least. As of now, there's a civil war in the mountains between the two sides."

Tologtirith and Caranmirwen chose that moment to re-enter, and they quietly retook their seats. Coerheledir greeted his parents with a short wave and a smile, and then rejoined the conversation with: "I see. I am still young and so I must beg your forbearance for what may seem a foolish question. Why is any of this vital, at all? If Orcs are killing each other, then I say let them do it and let them rot. What business is it of ours how many Orcs cut each other's throats?"

Halbarad glanced over at Elrond, who leant forward, steepling his hands. "That's not as foolish a question as you might think, Coerheledir Tologtirithion. It lacks an understanding of the situation, but that is not necessarily foolish. The problem is that _Yrch _wars never stay between _Yrch._ The beasts will steal supplies for their war from caravans, or raid down into small settlements for food and whatever loot they can find for themselves. That in itself is a concern. Second, this is a war for control of the surviving Orcs of the Misty Mountains. Whoever wins it could cause us all a fair bit of trouble."

He shifted in his chair. "And that brings us to you three. Elladan and Elrohir will coordinate the defense of Imladris no matter what, and Halbarad of the Dunedain will move his men along the mountains, but we are in need of further information. Fargond and Aralung did us a great service with what they brought back, but we need still more."

"To that end, I have decided to send small party of warriors out to investigate matters further. We need to know who these Orcs' allies are, if they have any. We need to know which faction bears the favor of Sauron, if any of them do. We also need to know what the Enemy might be planning concerning these factions. Will he send more men to the mountains? Will he try to invade Eriador from them? These are the sort of things we need to know fully to have a proper defense."

Fargond nodded. "Aye. Aralung and I were unable to venture long in those lands. We may be skilled young Rangers, but we are young, and Gundabad and the passes near it are dangerous ones. Keener minds and sturdier hands than ours might have more success gathering information than we did."

Tologtirith glanced over at his daughter, who was fidgeting about and doing everything she could not to look particularly excited about the thought of going on such a trip. "I think you have one volunteer in my daughter here."

Eofor and Farbarad exchanged glances, and Farbarad sighed. "Very well. We'll go with her on this mission. I take it we will be rewarded?"

Elrond's eyebrows rose sharply, and Dinennaur's face picked up a glare that Tologtirith was sure he could use to heat his forge for at least a thousand years if he could just transfer it from his daughter's face to his furnaces. Elrond's fork scraped against his plate as he stared thoughtfully at the man and did his best to keep his face blank. Elrohir had warned him about Farbarad, and he supposed he really should have listened. Halbarad made no attempt to hide his disgust, and stared at Farbarad as if he were something he'd just cleaned off the sole of his boot.

Elrond finally leant back and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I see. You want a reward, do you?" He pursed his lips. "We will give you something for your trouble, Farbarad, but this matter really is too important for us to haggle about prices. You cannot use any reward we might give you if Orcs burn the towns of Eriador."

Farbarad reddened, embarrassed. Why oh why did he say such things in front of the most important people? "I stand chastened, my lord. By your leave, my companions and I will leave Imladris in four days. I have supplies to buy, and folk to talk to, and I am sure Dinennaur and her family would love the time together." He rose and bowed to the lord of Imladris.

Eofor nodded. "Then I'll stay close to Master Tologtirith and his family. I will see you later on, brother." That word sent Farbarad's eyebrows skyrocketing to the top of his head, but he held in any other display of surprise until he was out of the house.

"Brother?"

**AN: **Wow, that was a long hiatus. I originally had another OC in here, but I wanted to get Elrond and Halbarad. I tried to keep them in character as best I could.


	12. Arrangements Broken

Arrangements Broken 

Disclaimer: I (rather obviously) do not own Lord of the Rings, that belongs to JRR Tolkien and the Tolkien Foundation.

The four days in Rivendell were days of all sorts of pleasure and awe for the Eorling. Coerheledir and Dinennaur were both more than willing to show him about the town, and the beauty of the architecture and the peace that filled the valley were the stuff of memories that Eofor would carry with him to the grave. Even Farbarad seemed affected by the refuge; his eyes lost some of their hardness and some of the lines in his face seemed softer. Yet a relaxed and happier Farbarad was still Farbarad, and Eofor could normally hear him haggling with a shopkeeper before he drew close enough to see the Dunedan.

The evenings at Tologtirith's house were even better, as the smith had plenty of stories to tell about things beyond Eofor's wildest dreams. The Elf seemed just as eager to hear Eofor's stories, and the two often took up their places in two great chairs by the fireplace and talked late into the night. For Farbarad, the main attraction of the house was Dinennaur's mother Caranmirwen. The _elleth_ was perhaps the best cook the rangy man had ever met, and he almost ate himself sick at every meal. Sparring with Coerheledir and Aralung kept his muscles toned and worked out the last of the kinks in his body that a life of several months of indolence could bring.

The only downside for any member of the party was the discussion that Dinennaur had with her parents, one that she'd promised to have with them she returned. Farbarad and Eofor were decidedly not present, but they saw the redness of her embarrassed face and some moisture in her eyes when she and her mother and father came out of the forge and figured that it had not been a pleasant time for any of them. Her father and mother embraced her and things for those three seemed to perk up from there, but the _elleth _stubbornly refused to talk about that discussion with either of the men. What they did notice was that she spent far more time with the family then she did doing almost anything else.

Unfortunately, those days flew by all too fast and soon the men found themselves standing beside Dinennaur at the road leading to the High Pass. Halbarad pressed a small sack of silver coins into Farbarad's hands and fixed the former Ranger with a look that plainly said he was not to gamble this money away on pain of death. Farbarad shifted his feet under the older man's stare and glanced away, muttering.

Elrond gave them his blessing and final instructions, and the three were on their way. The trip through the pass was decidedly unpleasant. It was very cold, as most mountain passes are given to being, and the wind set up an awful howl through the pass. It wasn't so cold that one couldn't survive on one's own beside a hot fire and a goodly number of blankets, but it was an uncomfortable state of being. Dinennaur tethered the horses closer together to share some warmth and wrapped them in their warm travel blankets. It wouldn't do to let one of the mounts suffer in this weather.

The Eorling couldn't recall ever being so cold as he was in the pass, and he shivered wildly. The fire made things better, as expected, but it was still very nippy. Farbarad took one look at him and moved closer, drawing the blankets over them.

Eofor started to protest the general oddness of this new state of affairs, but the Dunadan fixed him with a stern gray stare. "Don't be a fool Eorling. You've shaking like a leaf, and you won't get to sleep unless you have some more heat. I don't like this sort of thing much but you can't catch an arrow for me if you're half asleep."

"So I'm just a walking shield? That's comforting." Eofor took a deep breath and stared up at the sky. "Very well, we'll sleep back to back. I used to do this with my twin, so I suppose it's not all that strange."

"So now you're adopting me? Well, your brotherhood is better than that of my surviving kin. Don't try to take more than your share of these blankets." The two huddled together by the fire, and their combined heat was just enough to lull Eofor into a deep sleep. Farbarad turned a pair of sleepy eyes on the _elleth_. He didn't want to ask the question, but he'd be a poor leader if he didn't.

"Will you be…."

Dinennaur glanced up from her tea. "I have the first watch, Farbarad, and we Elves don't sleep as Men do. Nor is the cold all that bad; it's not pleasant, but not beyond toleration."

Farbarad nodded. "I know. I have the second watch, though, and that means leaving Eofor without extra warmth. He has the third, and that means I will lie about in the cold. I…"

The _elleth_'s eyes turned a little frosty. "Yes, I can help keep him and you warm, depending on which watch you two hold. It's not exactly proper, but if it helps you sleep, then I will do it." She stared off into the distance and was silent for a moment. When she turned back to Farbarad, her expression was lighter and certainly less harsh. "Of course, I also get to share in the warmth, and that's no ill thing."

Farbarad's lips twitched into a sour grin. "Aye, I forgot that you're such the great charitable and noble sacrificer for the good of all."

"Yes, it's best that you not forget all you just said on that matter. Sleep, Farlungion. I'll wake you when your watch comes." Farbarad nodded and dropped off to sleep himself.

The next night passed in much the same way as the first, although it should be noticed that the tea disappeared at an alarming rate up there in the pass. Farbarad alone drank three or four cups a night, and he normally took his tea with some of their precious store of sugar. They were desperate to get through the pass as soon as possible and to be free of this bitter cold, and the pace they set in the morning proved the truth of that. Still, there was a limit to how fast one could travel on the harsh terrain, and they ended up spending three nights in the pass.

It was on the third night that all their plans and plots for this mission ended up in the slop-bucket. The night started as the other nights started, with Farbarad grumbling that it was far too cold for any living being to be fooling around in this place and his companions nodding their agreement. Eofor's teeth clattered and chattered a beat that Dinennaur claimed she'd heard in a song for a Haradic folk dance.

"Are you sure about that, Dinennaur?" Eofor rubbed his arms and stared up at the cold grey sky. "Last night you said that my teeth sounded like a dancer's feet on a hard floor."

Farbarad grunted. "As long as it takes your mind off the cold, she can compare your clicking to anything she wants. I've never heard Haradric music before, so I really can't judge between one and the other."

Eofor's teeth redoubled their chattering, pausing only when a strange sound caused his jaw to drop open. "What was that?"

The sound barely rose above the howl of the wind, but it was unmistakably distinct from the sounds they'd heard earlier. This howl was not like the wind's, and it shuddered as it drew to a close before being taken up by several new voices.

"Wargs." Dinennaur's teeth ground together and she rose, glaive in hand. Her head tilted slightly as wild cries and yells sounded down the pass. "There are other voices with theirs. Harsher ones, if that's possible. The Orcs have returned to this part of the mountains."

Farbarad pulled his bow off of Cardolan's back and quickly strung it. "If either of you have bows, now'd be a good time to string and nock them. We need to put down some of these beasts before they get too close."

Eorling and Noldo both nodded and turned to their own weapons, Eofor stringing his old bow with practiced hands and the _elleth_ readying hers with rather less alacrity.

The string slipped in her grip and her features set unpleasantly. "Curse my clumsy fingers." Grumbling, the Elf managed to get her bow strung and an arrow nocked just as the first Wargs came into view, followed closely by a few Orcs.

By the looks of things, they were coming from the pass ahead, so there was no way to escape them except running backwards, and that wasn't the best of plans. It was better to stand and face them here rather than turn tail and hope to outdistance them on this bitter night. The wolves would panic the horses, making riding a fool's quest, and running on foot left them vulnerable to the Wargs and any Orcs riding them. Besides all that, Farbarad was in a rather poor mood and not well given to running away.

"Mark your target. Ready….and….loose!" Farbarad's voice cut clear and crisp through the din raised by charging Orcs. Three bowstrings twanged, and three arrows found their marks. A scarred old goblin dropped with a grey-feathered Dunedain arrow in his eye. A Warg fell, writhing, with an arrow in its throat. Another unfortunate Orc staggered and fell screaming, an Elf-fletched arrow buried in and through the top of his foot.

Eofor blinked. "Dinennaur? I don't mean to insult your aim, sister, but…" Farbarad's voice cut off any words he'd planned to say, and perhaps that was for the best. The way the Elf's face darkened on seeing where the arrow went didn't bode well for any who pointed out the shot.

"Mark targets, ready, loose!" Again, three arrows screamed towards their targets. Farbarad's hit a Warg in the eye, Eofor's another wolf below the lower jaw, and Dinennaur's pierced the throat of an Orc.

"That was a better shot." Dinennaur took a quick breath and drew and loosed again. A huge, broad Orc dropped to writhe its death agonies with an arrow in its guts. "Not as clean a shot, but it killed its mark."

"Aye, and what a mark! The beast was a big one and all you could do was hit its belly." Farbarad's features twisted into a dark grin, and he shot another Orc through the throat. "It's enough to make a skilled archer weep for his craft."

"As you say. I hope you're as good with an axe as you are with your bow, because they're getting too close for this sort of work." Dinennaur set her bow aside and kicked her glaive into her hands. Eofor, are you with me?"

The Eorling drew both swords and whipped them back and forth to ready his wrists. "I'm with you as sure as I live. Farbarad, stay behind us and kill anything we leave. From what I've seen of your axe-craft…." Eofor shook his head and bit in a whistle. "It's enough to make a swordsman weep for his art."

The taller man's grin broadened. "Oh, very clever, very clever indeed! Here you use my own words against me. Well, I'll not pretend that I am Elendil returned to aid you poor sots, provided Dinennaur makes no claim to being a reincarnated Beleg Strongbow."

Dinennaur managed a tight, grim little smile. "Fair enough."

She blocked an incoming strike and swept the blade clear, opening her attacker to a thrust to the guts. The Orc folded with a choked howl. The _elleth _practically danced about the battlefield, weaving and stepping fast to keep her foes at bay and unable to attack even as that long glaive broke their defenses and cut them to ribbons. A charging Uruk, perhaps a lieutenant of whatever chief these beasts followed, took a slip-thrust to the throat and collapsed with nary a groan. Others fell shrieking with bad leg cuts or thrusts to the chest or stomach. Battle is never pretty work, but the way the Noldo could wreak such destruction and make it look so easy was an art of sorts. Eventually, the sheer press of Orcs and the confines of the pass turned using the polearm into an exercise in futility, and she fell back on her sword.

Eofor's training with twin blades over the last few weeks paid off mightily. In some parts, he worked his swords as a boxer might his fists. A quick block followed by a lightning thrust with the off-hand claimed at least three Orcs. Another had his sword arm removed right after he parried one of Eofor's blows. The Orc's head joined its arm on the ground a moment later. One blade shoved a fifth Orc's shield aside and a savage hacking blow from the other clove through its shoulder down to its chest. One attacking Orc had the misfortune of having his blow parried, his axe swept to the side, and for a blow to strike his skull and another to slash through his leather shirt and open his midsection.

Farbarad followed in the two's wake. While not a good close in fighter, he was competent enough to fell the disrupted and wounded Orcs staggering away from the red head and the brunette. The Elvish axe flashed and thundered down on Orc flesh, leaving terrible wounds and dropping Orcs left and right. A powerful looking Uruk stumbled into his path while trying to escape the Elf's rush and get some room to build a counterattack. The great beast took the axe between his shoulders and collapsed with a growl. The hate-filled look the dying creature gave the Dunedan sent a little chill down his spine, but he shook that off quickly. There was no sense in fearing a dead Orc.

A new sound from behind the little party came added to the ruckus. An enormous Warg came tearing down the pass, snapping at Orcs left and right and generally wreaking havoc off to Farbarad's right. He tried to turn to face the massive wolf, but the sight of what was behind the Warg stayed his hand. A great figure with an equally imposing sword was hacking his way through the Orcs and heading straight for Dinennaur. The Dunedan raised a cry to the Elf, who turned just as Morangmacar cut what looked like an Orcish chieftain in two at the hips. The Orcs, especially after the loss of their chieftain, seemed dead-earnest in their attempt to rip the half-Orc to shreds. Shrieks of "runagate", "rebel", and "Elf lover" filled the air, and the Orcish press focused on the big creature.

Fortunately, if for no one else but Morangmacar, the brute was up for the challenge. The big blade slashed and flashed through the horde, dropping Orc after Orc. Dinennaur ended up caught in the rush of Orcs and pushed her way to the Man-Orc's side. "Do you have any particular reason for breaking your word to me, _yrch_? Perhaps you wanted your knife back?"

Morangmacar jolted at that. The Elf's words were said with no small amount of venom, but he really couldn't spare his breath. He shook his head shortly and drove the massive blade through a pair of Orcs. He withdrew it with a curse and a heave, and stepped back to block a wild axe blow from an almost Uruk-sized Orc.

"I think he wanted to lecture me about something again. He really likes to speak his piece, you know." Eofor gasped that bit out as he tried to keep his footing on ground slippery with icy blood and melting snow. He hit a rough patch and started to fall, but caught himself with an outstretched arm even as he stabbed under an Orc's guard and into its lower chest. The way Dinennaur looked at him stung worse than any Orc blade could. She was evidently not interested in anyone involving themselves in the discussion, nor did she seem too happy that others were around to watch this little squabble.

She caught the hurt look on Eofor's face and grimaced even as she spun around and away from an Orc blade and clove its skull as it tried to press the attack. "My apologies, Eofor, but this is between the waste of flesh and myself for the moment. I'll be happy to discuss it with you after I argue it out with the oathbreaker whose word of honor is not worth a single _celebbarad._."

"And you're na' doin' that until this scrap's over." Morangmacar finally chopped his attacker in two from head to mid chest and glanced around himself for another foe to kill. The almost frantic way he searched for one showed that he either desperately hated Orcs, desperately wanted to avoid the coming conversation, or both. Unfortunately, the last Orc willing to make an attempt at fighting lost his head to Farbarad's axe and so the half-breed found himself surrounded by three very annoyed enemies. Being a savage brute didn't mean he was a fool. Fighting now and here was not a wise plan, and he had a better than average chance of surviving if he could call in a certain favor. He placed his slaughter-sword on the ground and raised his empty hands

The Elf approached the half-breed, a fire burning in her eyes. Her free hand, soaked in Orc blood, flew up and dealt Morangmacar a ferocious backhand. His head flew to one side and he cursed, rubbing ruefully at the mark. The Elf tossed her sword aside and another backhand on the other side of his face followed the second. Soon the Elf was shouting and raining blows on a Man-Orc too unsure of his own position to even think about retaliating.

"You broke your word to me. I thought better of you than that. I shouldn't have, I knew you were a filthy, wretched Orc, but I thought having some Edan blood in you would give you some sense of decency. I should've known better!" The Elf's tirade continued as she reigned punches and slaps down on a rather shocked half-Orc. Eofor and Farbarad watched the scene unfolding with wide eyes.

"Did you know that she had a right hook as vicious as that?"

Farbarad shrugged, his mouth still a little agape. "No. I suppose that's incentive for me not to truly anger this one. When do you bet that this Morangmacar will lose his temper and start hitting back, and how much do you want to bet on it?"

Eofor shook his head and lunged for Morangmacar. He grabbed hold of the brute's waist and pulled, but it was like grabbing a tree trunk and trying to uproot it by main force. The Half-Orc broke free and spun, eyes blazing. "Do'na' get in the way, fire-head."

That was all the opportunity that the _elleth _needed to slip her foot between Morangmacar's legs and jerk it out from under him. Farbarad grabbed her right after that, but she struggled like a wildcat, and the Noldo's strength matched than her companion's. The result was that the Dunedan was stuck holding on for dear life. He just barely managed to get her on the ground but keeping her there was another matter. Eofor sprang on top of the prone Morangmacar, or would have if the Man-Orc hadn't caught him at the waist mid-fall and held the much smaller man above him. Big muscles flexed, and Eofor found himself bouncing and rolling through snow and blood. The Man-Orc was no longer shocked, he was angry instead; all his plans of going along peacefully went out the window.

"Gerroff 'er!" Rage made the beast's words was almost unintelligible, but Farbarad caught the meaning as a meathook hand grabbed him from behind and hauled him up and away. The half-breed jerked Dinennaur to her feet, and she repaid him with a particularly nasty blow to the face. He took a step back, and Eofor and Farbarad threw themselves on top of him.

Even with two men, the conclusion was far from sure and it only ended when Eofor pressed his dagger against Morangmacar's neck and told him to lie still. Even the furious Man-Orc could see the futility of trying to continue the fight, and he lay still. All four lay or stood there, breathing heavily.

Morangmacar caught his breath first. "Did you learn to throw such tantrums from yer father or yer laird? I've never seen ye act quite this way, Elf. While I'm na' a model of restraint, you acting this way seems a wee bit unseemly to me." The _perorch's_ newly bruised face twisted in a savage grin. "Unseemly or na', I do'na' half mind it; of course, I do and did mind the fact that you were hittin' me pretty hard and I'm na' all that interested in going about bruised from head to toe."

The Elf's eyes met his, and something in that unsettled him. He glanced away with a near-violent shudder. He was no coward, but nothing of Orc blood could face the eyes of a Noldo or any Elf without being a little afraid.

"No, I didn't learn this from my parents or my _aran_ and perhaps it is a little unseemly; but you cannot deny that you deserved every bit of it. What possessed you to go back on your word? You've never done that before, and I always thought that that made you something more than the average run of the mill beast."

Morangmacar grunted. "I thought that savin' your hide made me something more than your average Orc. I came this way because I'm na' all that sure I could trust yer word, Elf. Ye might have gone ahead and tried to grab a Ranger or two and send them after me, or ye might have turned about after a few days and taken my trail up again. And then there was what I heard from some travelers a ways back. The Orcs are gettin' restless again, and I thought I could get some good sport up here."

"Good sport? I see. It's a little coincidental that you show up in the pass around the same time that Orcs attack us. You could be a spy or…" Farbarad's voice trailed off as he spotted the giant Warg padding slowly towards them. He tensed and scrambled for his axe, but the Warg turned away to lie down by the campfire. "What in the name of all that is right and good are you doing, Warg!"

Morangmacar sighed. "Spoiled wretch. He could run or find somethin' better to do with his time, and he heads straight for the fire for a nap." He whistled and the Warg looked up quickly, and then laid its huge head on its paws again just as quickly. "I'm na' a spy. I'd sooner die and na' have anything to do with these Orc beasties then turn a spy for them. I can tell that ye'd na' believe that, though, so I put myself at yer mercy. Or rather, at the Elf's mercy."

Eofor blinked. "At our mercy? Are you sure you have nothing else to say than that? You're not going to curse us or try to escape? You're a strange creature, Morangmacar. And why are you throwing yourself on Dinennaur's mercy?"

"He's throwing himself on my mercy because I owe him my life. He saved my life when I was in Mirkwood on business for my lord Elrond. Killing him when I owe him that goes against my grain."

"Which is why you should never owe anything to a creature of the Enemy." Farbarad quipped. "I'd kill him even if I owed him a favor, but I am not you. We can't let him leave now. If he is a spy, then he may well bring more Orcs on our heads. We'll tie him up for the night and then release him in the morning."

Morangmacar growled at that, but a look from both the _elleth_ and the Eorling reminded him that resisting would not be in his best interests. They bound him hand and foot and laid him at their feet under the covers. Dinennaur originally wanted to leave him with his own blanket on the other side of the fire, but Eofor pointed out that having him under their feet gave them some additional control over the beast. The pleasant side effect was that Morangmacar made a very a good foot-warmer

**A/N: **

I apologize for my long silence. Real life has been insane, what with my last year of university and getting ready for grad school. I hope you all enjoyed this chappie. Battle scenes are

**Okay, the plot is gelling. The next few chapters should draw things along pretty smoothly. Hoped y'all enjoyed the battle scenes. Those are not always easy to write. **

**Oh, one more thing. **_**Celebbarad **_**is sindarin for "silver tower". I thought it up while trying to imagine the sort of money that one might find in Tolkien's world. The Professor didn't spent a lot of time on the economy in his works, but these societies would need one to function, and money is mentioned**

**The **_**celebbarad **_**is a silver Gondorian coin, accepted most everywhere among Free peoples, though Dwarves and Elves likely have coin of their own. It's a coin of medium worth, perhaps the equivalent of a day or two's wages for a laborer. **

If anyone has any better information on money in Middle Earth, I'd welcome it, because I want to stay close to the Professor's work within the scope of this story. AU is AU but alternate universe doesn't grant a license to fart at the canon.

Oh, and about Dinennaur's relative strength. I'd imagine that Noldor Elves are really some of the stronger creatures in Arda (Trolls, Dwarves, and Ents aside). Dunedain are close physically to the Noldor, at least to my understanding, but I think there might still be a difference between the two. For the purpose of this story, Noldo Elf males are somewhat stronger than Dunedan males, and female Noldor are normally weaker than Dunedain men. Dinennaur is an exception because she's worked in a smithy from an early age, and she's fought for quite a while. She isn't stronger than Farbarad, but neither is he more powerful than she. (And he is strong even for one of the Dunedain)

Morangmacar's strength mainly relates to hybrid vigor and the relative power of his parents. His father was a massive, abnormally strong Black Numenorean and his mother was large and strong for an Orc. He's also had to fight and scrap from when he was old enough to walk, and I'd imagine that he spent a lot of time trying to get stronger and stronger to defend himself from those around him.


	13. Interlude 3: Krassat

Interludes of Eriador: To Forge a Dark Iron Blade

Disclaimer: I (rather obviously) do not own Lord of the Rings, that belongs to JRR Tolkien and the Tolkien Foundation.

**AN: A number of Numenorians served Sauron before the sinking of Numenor. I say this to establish that Krassat and the others are by no means 1st generation Black Numenorians. However, his people have likely formed their own opinions about their faithful kin. The Black Serpent is one of the standards of the Southrons and Men of Rhun. I envisioned it as an actual ruling house in Rhun, who saw fit to make their crest into a battle-standard for their people. **

Third Age 300

The defeat that Elendil and Gil-Galad's armies handed Sauron at Dagorlad near the end of the Second Age threw the Dark Lord's lands into chaos. It was the sort of chaos that those Numenoreans who served Sauron used to advance both their own goals and the goals of their recovering master. In Harad, for example, Haradric tribes battled each other only to fall to an army of Black Numenoreans; these Numenorean conquers soon set themselves up as lords of these southern lands.

Rhun was likewise in flux, as the ruling house of the land fought a losing battle against the house of the Black Serpent. The Black Numenoreans took advantage of this unrest as well, though in a different manner from the work in Harad. There were far less Numenoreans in Rhun to start with and so they yoked their cause to the Black Serpent's banner. This further ensured that victory in the civil war went to the Black Serpent.

Their fidelity was well-rewarded, as the king of Rhun granted them different fiefdoms throughout the east. One of these was Gorgol's Keep and the lands around it. The property had once belonged to the Orcish garrison of Rhun, but many of them had died in Eriador in the Lindon campaign and many more at Dagorlad, and their influence was much diminished.

It was through the window of the rough-hewn tower of Gorgol's Keep that Krassat, high sergeant and guard to the lord of the keep, watched the sun set off in the west. The sunset was always a reminder of what he and his people had left behind forever. The west was where their homeland had once been before their arrogance caused the One to sink it. The West was where the Numenorian faithful put their hope, trusting that the Valar wouldn't let the "Doom of Men" be all there was of mortal men. It was foolish of the faithful, to be sure, but there were times when Numenorian half-wished he could have that sort of hope.

The Black Numenorians had fallen from the ways of the Valar in hopes of longer life, a way to circumvent their doom. As of yet no way had been found. Yet there was a still a dim expectation, not really hope, but not despair, that the Dark Lord wouldn't let them pass. To be honest, some may call that an even more foolish hope than the one the faithful had. Yet for some reason it had more weight with Krassat than did the beliefs of the faithful.

The hand of Dulgatarik, Lord of Gorgol's Keep, landed heavily on his shoulder. "Krassat, don't tell me you prefer the setting sun to the company of your captain! Come knight, come and help me finish off the cask of red." Krassat glanced over his shoulder at his lord and nodded shortly. He did his best to fight back a shudder as he looked into his chieftain's grey eyes, but didn't quite succeed there. He was half a head taller than his lord, three handspans broader across the chest and choulders, and maybe two or three stone heavier, but size and strength mattered little when it came to Dulgatarik. The Numenorean was the sole lord and authority over the whole keep and he could do as he pleased; besides that, he seemed to exude a strange mix of charisma and menace that had overawed the king of Rhun himself.

At one time, the high sergeant had counted his lord a friend, but that was then and this was now. Dulgatarik had no use for friends, and his bodyguard wasn't even sure he wanted to be close friends with what the man had become. The lord of the keep had fallen further than any of the other Black Numenoreans, and that was saying a great deal. He was surprisingly debauched, and his cruelty was feared even by the Orcs.

The squire watched as his lord sank back into his stone throne. In one hand, he held a great tankard, and in the other was a sheaf of papers. The tankard, whose size made it better suited for beer than wine, was full to the brim of one of Rhun's best purple wines.

"The peasants at the foot of our side of the Grey Mountains are causing trouble again. They still don't like the fact that their king set a Numenorean as their master..." He huffed suddenly. "Truth be told they should be grateful I'm just their lord and not their king as my blood so richly deserves. At any rate, they are refusing to pay their taxes. I want you to get Cuthgrush and his men to their villages to squeeze them.

"You aren't going yourself, Lord?"

The lord of the fief laughed, a sound that held more scorn than mirth. "Krassat, Krassat, old friend. You still haven't learned, have you? You are perhaps the best swordsman in the keep and my best lower ranking officer. Yet in spite of all those virtues you have no creativity, no ability to think outside the box. It's what's kept you in your post as my bodyguard all these years."

The knight seethed under his captain's scorn. Yet his tongue was bound by old laws of honor and newer laws of fear and so he said nothing.

The chieftain continued. "The point, Krassat, is that I want the Easterlings to see the Orcs, and the Orcs only as their direct oppressors. The brighter ones will recognize that I'm behind the Orcs, but there are few wise men in that village, and they can be dealt with. The others will turn to me as a shield against the ravages of my dogs. They'll gladly pay their taxes in full for my...protection, and I'll keep their goodwill."

A soft, evil laugh came from corner of the room. "Ah, is that Bashruk? Who gave you permission to laugh?" The fallen Numenorian paused, chin in hand. "I have more pressing matters to discuss with you so I'll pass over that, just don't let it happen again. Tell me, worm, has the Faithful fool we caught in our last raid talked at all?"

"No master, he..."The Orc's voice trailed off, and he shifted his feet nervously, drawing a curse from the Numenorean.

"Incompetent ass! I have no time for fun, and so I rely on your hands to drag the truth out of my prisoners. I see I was wrong to set this task in your court." Dulgatarik licked his lips. "I suppose I should take over this particular prisoner's interrogation myself, after I send word of your failure to Guzgluk. My captain of the inquisitors knows how to discipline those of his men that displease me."

The Orc whimpered, but it couldn't say more before two Easterling guards seized its arms and dragged it off. Krassat watched it go with a rising feeling of disquiet. He knew that torture was a good way to get information from someone, but it still struck a wrong chord to him. Perhaps it was the last lingering hold of the faithful on him, he banished that thought from him as quick as it came. He was not weakening, not in the slightest.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a scuffle and raised, angry voices from the other door to the hall. Cuthgrush, captain of the Keep's Orcs, finally pushed his way through more of the Easterling guards. His badly scarred face sported a new black eye and a split lip, among other things, and he was grumbling and scowling back at the guards trailing behind him.

The keep's lord watched him come closer and raised a hand in greeting. "Cuthgrush, my loyal servant. We were just speaking of you." The man's voice lowered suddenly, becoming much less friendly. "But I did not send for you. What are you doing here, Captain?"

The Orc bowed low, keeping his eyes averted from the Numenorian. "My lord and master, forgive me the interruption this once." He straightened. "Your bastard son, my grand-cub, is causing havoc in the pits...again. I have two lads stove up with broken bones, and another with a snapped neck, and all over a few harsh words. That waste of skin doesn't seem to know enough to keep his hands to himself."

Krassat's eyebrows rose. The bastard son? The waste of skin? Ah, yes, yet another proof of how far his old friend had fallen compared to the other Black Numenoreans. His lord had taken to taking his pleasure with whatever women he could find: Easterling, Numenorean, even Orc, it mattered little to him as long as he could slake his lust.

Dulgatarik was also a savvy politician, and having the daughter of an Orcish warlord as his mistress would make a powerful alliance. The lord of the keep preferred brute force and fear to regular loyalty, but he understood the value of connections. The Orcs understood it as well. These failings and personality quirks were what had produced Karan and two others, though the latter creatures were more Orc than man in their habits and so never a real problem. Karan on the other hand…

The lord sniffed, bringing his squire's attention back to him. "His life is in your hands, as it always has been. Why are you bothering me with this?"

Cuthgrash cocked his head to one side. "Indee-eed? Aye, you're right about that, you are. But you see, I don't want him dead. I've watched him fighting in the pits, and what I see warms my black old heart. To think my daughter could give birth to such a beast…." He chuckled for a moment. "The dog has potential to be an impressive fighter, but I need to train him, to break him down to make sure that that capability is realized. To do that, aaaah, that requires more than power to decide when he dies. I must also have the power to decide how he lives." He shot a glance at Krassat. "I cannot do that when you give that power fully to your high sergeant there."

The man in question stiffened and looked sharply back at his lord. "My lord, you gave me a free hand in how Karan lived when I brought my case before you. Why should you revoke that grant..."

"A small favor, that." The Orc cut in. "Karan, as you _ta_...as my lords call him, would have not burdened anyone at all if we had been allowed to do things our way. He would have learned respect and how to scrap out a living as much as any other Orc does. Of course, that's if he survived to see adulthood. Not that that's a sure thing even now. Your work has made him all too disdainful of his mother's kin and he will not knuckle under to any but myself."

The Black Numenorean chieftain raised his hands to still any further arguments. "You both raise good points. Krassat, I give you leave to keep Claideb in your house from sunrise to just past noon. Cuthgrush, you may keep him in your camp from mid-afternoon until the sunrise. That should let you both have the influence you each want."

Dulgatarik's stare turned icy again. "Why I should have to arbitrate between the two of you over anything related to that waste of flesh is beyond me, though. You two should have settled this well before it got to this state. Both of you have your own work to do. And Cuthgrush? Do not _ever_ bring so trivial a matter before me again. If you do, I will give you scars that would make your old captain blush with shame at his own poor workmanship. Dismissed."

Krassat and Cuthgrussh gave their lord a bow, and headed straight for the great doors leading out of the throne room. The sight of a towering, massively built Numenorean and a much shorter but still powerfully built Orc walking side by side in the hallways was an odd one, and drew a few stares from the Easterlings bustling about in their duties. Krassat was used to the stares, and simply ignored them. Cuthgrash on the other hand, growled and even snapped at one of the passersby.

"What happened to your nose, Orc?"

Cuthgrash's attention whipped back to the man beside him. "This? Oh, just a little gift from one of the guards. They aren't too willing to give me the respect being a captain should give me, so I have to teach it to them. On another tack, I'm glad the master let you keep Karan for the mornings."

"Really? I would have thought you'd be annoyed. I am making him high-minded after all."

"It's not something to jest over." The Orc grumbled. "He got into a fight defending the "honor" of your _tark _slave….Bronwenaudiel, was it?" Speaking even that little bit of Sindarin made him shake his head and spit. "Apparently he sees her as his mother of sorts..." His voice trailed off at the stormy look on Krassat's face. The slave was a touchy subject. The high sergeant rarely treated her as a slave, and he reacted badly to those below him treating her or talking about her as such.

Cuthgrush wasn't in the mood a trip to the leech's, and so he quickly changed the subject. He stopped dead in his tracks and pushed a clawed finger into the man's chest. The Orc's breath rasped into the Numenorian's face, and the smell of beer and blood turned the big man's stomach.

"You see, I want this Karan to earn his spurs and serve in your lord's bodyguard. I want a warrior, not some dung-filth part of a rabble that'll scream and die the moment things get touch and go. If I have a man in his bodyguard, then it'll better raise my standing in this Morgoth-forsaken Udun-hole. Guzgluk is making noises again, and I want to shut that dung-rat up for good. Can't do it now, you know, not when he and I are almost equally favored by your lord. Karan can't be a bodyguard to the _tark_ if he can't fight well. I need you to teach him how to use a sword, and how to use one better than anything in the keep, yourself and the lord excepted, o' course."

"As for me, I'll teach him to bear pain and suffering and all the usual things an Orc must learn before going to battle. Since I am training a bodyguard, the lessons I teach will be much harder than the ones I normally give out. I want him to learn to hate our enemies even more than you or I do, and pain's the best way to learn that sort of thing. Now, if we work together, we can forge a fine blade for our armies. What say you?"

Krassat's brow furrowed. He was very much uninterested in letting an Orc have much sway over Karan, but there seemed no way around it. If he worked with the Cuthgrush, then he'd have a chance at mitigating the damage that the Orc's teachings would do to the half-breed.

"Very well, but on one condition: that I get him back in the evenings. It is impossible to teach honor or nobility to your kind, but a few lessons in that direction might be useful in keeping him even-keeled. All our training will be for nothing if we can't keep him calm and stable off the battlefield and disciplined and solid on it. Your treatment may well break him too much for him to be of any use to us otherwise, and we'd have a mad dog instead of blade."

Cuthgrash blinked for a moment. "You're a bad liar, but very well. There's no skin off my nose granting you that; the wretch'd just get in the way of our fun at night anyways. We should go to your house and inform him of the changes. I would love to see the look on his face when he finds out what's happened."

The Numenorian harrumphed. "You would. I'm sure we have enough stew for you to stay for dinner .I don't want you around, to be honest, but if we're to work together, we may as well learn to be....sociable."

**AN: **Okay, lots of weird stuff here. Some of Tolkien's work does indicate that it took generations for Men to mate with Orcs, but Dulgatarik is perhaps an exception to that rule. He's an especially debased Black Numenorean, and his fall includes his sex drive. It can seem a little weird that a man would do something like this, but the Haradrim were supposedly as cruel or crueler than even Orcs, so it's not utterly beyond the realm of possibility.

It's also possible that a few of the Black Numenoreans would have more of their original virtue than others. Not every evil person is equally vile, hence Krassat's relatively gentle nature. (gentle compared to his lord)

As for Dulgatarik's position: it seems like a lot of the Black Numenoreans set themselves up as lords in Rhun and elsewhere.

I originally gave the Numenoreans Sindarin names, but this made no sense in the light of some of the fallen Numenoreans rejecting Sindarin names and turning back to their own language. A Black Numenorean would never carry an Elvish name, at least that's what it seems to me.


End file.
